The Queen and I
by Sparrow Nightrunner
Summary: A story about drama queen sisters, closeted jocks, and life outside the showstoppers. Chyan
1. Overture

**The Queen and I**

_(Author's Notes: Yeah, I'm pretty sure I actually got the dyslexia idea from a different fic. Honestly, it makes sense to me. There's a difference between being a slow learner and reading at a first grade level in high school._

_Warning: this is eventually going to be a Chyan fic, so if you don't like boy/boy stuff, you may as well turn back now, instead of being unpleasantly surprised later. Don't say I didn't warn you. :)_

_Also, I know very little about dyslexia, fashion, and dance. So why the heck am I writing in Ryan's point of view? I guess I like a challenge.)_

**Overture**

Sharpay and I have always been a single unit. We were apart for those eight minutes after which she'd left the womb and I hadn't. Then, I followed her for the first time (which she has never let me live down), and we were henceforth inseparable until our last year of high school.

When she starred in her first performance at age four (a series of wails into a pink plastic microphone in front of our parents and their friends, roughly set to "I Just Can't Wait to Be King"), I was right behind her, twirling merrily to the music.

And when I was diagnosed with Dad's dyslexia at age six, she stuck by me and refused to let my failings bring her down. She read every school book out loud to me with gusto and flair—to this day, I still carry the memory of Shar with a book in one hand and a stuffed pig in the other, draped in a tangled mess of yarn as she passionately reenacted _Charlotte's Web_.

When she was turned down by her first crush at age nine, I blew off baseball practice just so we could go out for sundaes together. Then, we both skipped our nightly practice at the Children's Theatre and held a brother-sister karaoke night instead. When she started nit-picking my singing, I knew she was going to be all right.

When I was kicked off the baseball team at age twelve and everything in Newport became awkward, she was the one that convinced Dad to move the family back to the office in Albuquerque. To this day, I've never found the courage to ask her how she pulled that off.

We spent our childhoods giggling over Disney princess movies and dreaming of one day becoming King and Queen of the World (That is, until we realized that would mean we'd have to get married. To each-other. Ew.) We spent our preteen years cooing over the hottest teenaged boys in Newport, Rhode Island. We went into our teens blazing a trail to stardom so bright that the rest of East High just had to pay attention to us. She was my confident, charismatic (when she wanted to be) starlet sis, and I was her dependable, daydreaming Broadway bro.

I guess what I'm trying to say is… she's not a bad person. In fact, she's a wonderful person, but it takes a little digging to find it. (Yeah, no one believes Zeke when he says that, either.)

By our junior year of high school, we were co-presidents of the East High Drama Club, school icons when it came to fashion and the arts, and a notorious force to be reckoned with both on stage and off. However, Sharpay was dependent on the approval of others for her own self-image, so she tended go into histrionics anytime someone as much as suggested that her power over the student body wasn't absolute. As for myself… with the incident in Newport on top of my dyslexia, I didn't have much self-confidence to speak of. I was constantly second-guessing myself, I needed regular validation from Sharpay, and I don't think I said three words to anyone outside the Drama Club for four years.

But we were happy. We ruled the school in our Evans Twins way, and it worked well for us. Everyone else had their own plebian little cliques, following their respective leaders like mindless drones while we looked down at them from the drama table. It worked, and we were on top of the world.

And then, like the Good Witch, Gabriella floated down amongst us little people, and all hell broke loose in Oz.


	2. Tradition

_(Yep, it's a POV fic. Come with me, back to the first movie, and see it from a whole new perspective :3)_

**Chapter 1: Tradition**

"Can you believe her? Giving _us_ detention? _And_ confiscating our _cell phones_?" The shrill note in Sharpay's voice left no argument about which was the greater offense. It was the first day after winter break, just after homeroom, and already, there was drama in our lives. "You'd think as the Club's faculty advisor she'd give us _some_ leeway. Guess she lost her sense of _taste_ over winter break."

I was still a little confused about what, exactly, had just happened. One minute, Ms. Darbus was announcing the winter musical (as if anyone had any doubt who would be playing the two leads) and the academic decathlon—the next minute, someone's phone rang and suddenly six different people from four different cliques had somehow landed in detention. "At least Troy Bolton will be there," I said.

In sync, we stopped walking and glanced over our shoulders to run our eyes over the East High golden boy, who was still standing in front of Ms. Darbus's classroom. He was looking sporty in a green jacket over a cobalt blue Abercrombie shirt and tight black jeans. The bold, clashing colors made him look adorably jockish but still set off his striking baby blues.

In unison, we let out dreamy sighs. "I want him, Ryan," Shar said.

"He's like candy for the eyes," I agreed.

Then, we faced forward and resumed our brisk walk down the hall. Sharpay's voice assumed its 'business' tone. "He's talking to that new girl… what was her name?" I thought I recalled it, but I wasn't sure so I gave up and shrugged. She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. I hope detention doesn't last too long. We need to run through our number for the audition tomorrow a couple more times."

"I told you, it's already perfect."

"Oh no. It's not perfect until you drop those jazz squares like I told you."

I suppressed an eye-roll. "Come on, sis. Even if someone else does try out for the pairs audition, it's not like they're going to be any match for _us_."

She pursed her lips for a moment, mollified. "Well, I'll just make sure that no one else dares to sign up. You can't be too careful." She reached into her purse and pulled out a hot pink sharpie, and I couldn't help but cast her a look of mild alarm. Hopefully, she wasn't going to start poking people in the eyes with it under pretense of "giving their eye-shadow extra pep." Last time she'd done that, one girl had had to wear an eye-patch for a week.

Shar gave me a far-too-innocent smile and a "toodles" wave, then stalked off toward the bulletin board. With a sigh, I peeled off and started heading for the auditorium. She would want to do a stage rehearsal during free period, since we probably wouldn't have the time after school. Setting it up now, during passing period, would save both of us her impatience.

I pulled the arrangement CD out of my messenger bag as I entered the drama department. Spinning the CD around my finger, I hummed to myself and performed a muted version of the next day's number, completely comfortable in my domain, if not anywhere else in the school.

o-o-o-o-o

It was after third period that I started to realize that something was not right.

I was lurking near the wildcat statue across from the bulletin boards, scoping out the audition sign-ups. No one, of course, had signed up for the pairs auditions—and I didn't think they would have, even if Sharpay hadn't covered the entire section with her own signature. We were the Evans Twins; you just didn't try out against the Evans Twins, and every student with the slightest interest in the arts knew that.

So far, I'd seen a classy young lady and a pair of art freaks jot their names on the lower section of the sheet, where the minor parts could sign up. Nothing new; nothing remarkable. But then, Troy Bolton slunk up to the audition list and peered at it.

My first thought was, of course, along the lines of "Mmm, yummy." But when I glanced down the hall, expecting his loyal Army of Jocks to be right on his heels, I didn't see anyone. Not a single cheerleader. Not even his poofy-haired sidekick.

I did a double-take and actually _looked_ at Troy. His body language read as conflicted between looking casually cool in his typical jockish way… and rapt attention to the list. After a couple little leans inward, he nodded to himself and casually strolled away.

It was bizarre.

I spotted Shar approaching from down the hall and intercepted her, tugging her toward the bulletin boards. "Troy Bolton was looking at our audition list."

"Again?" I hadn't known there had been a first time. Communication is not exactly a cornerstone of the relationship between Shar and me. Honestly, I'm not sure what is. "You know, he was hanging around with that new girl, and they were _both_ looking at the list."

For a moment, I thought that Shar's insecurity was showing—but maybe not. Troy Bolton had definitely looked like he was up to something. Usually, Troy would never be caught dead _watching_ a musical, much less signing up for one. Jocks and musicals did _not _mix, as I'd learned back in Newport.

Sharpay gave a huff and stalked off, and I realized a little too late that she had asked me a question. I'd zoned out, which I suppose she must have found frustrating, since she'd still been talking at me. Dutifully, I spun to follow her.

I could tell by the way she walked that she had a Purpose. She marched us into the computer lab and hopped into a seat, and I perched at her elbow. After she had opened an internet browser, it was just a matter of a quick name search (Gabriella Montez; I'd never learn to spell that right) before she found a hit she liked. I didn't even need to make out the entire title to figure out what was going on, what with the pictures of the new girl smiling and holding up various math and science trophies.

"Wow. An Einsteinette," I said. "So why do you think she's interested in our musical?"

"I'm not sure that she is. And we needn't concern ourselves with amateurs." For a moment, I was almost proud of her, until she said, "But..." Then, Shar switched to scheming mode, so I settled in to enjoy the ride. "…there is no harm in making certain that Gabriella is welcomed into school activities that are, well, appropriate for her. After all, she loves pi." With a self-satisfied smirk, she pressed "print."

o-o-o-o-o-o

Our target was clear: the locker of Taylor McKessie, Chemistry Club president, decathlon go-to-girl, and Queen of the Nerds.

If anyone thought the sight of the Evans twins creeping through the school, peering around corners and hiding behind locker bays bizarre, no one was stupid enough to mention it. We located the class know-it-all as she was walking through the math department, preaching to her fellow brains about how jocks were cavemen and nerds would one day rule the world. Shar's scheme was more perfect than I'd realized—if Gabriella fell in with these mathletes, they'd quash anything that might be between her and Troy, the school's primo jock. No pair meant no pairs audition. No pairs audition meant no threat.

I often wondered what I'd do without my sister's big schemy brain.

We flitted from side corridor to side corridor after Taylor's troupe. When they stopped at a locker, Shar and I leaned farther around the corner to get a look at which one.

"Eleventh from the right," Sharpay whispered, and we casually leaned back into the side corridor. Just in time, too, because Taylor finished at her locker and turned her troupe around, passing our hiding spot. Shar and I both put on a show of being fascinated with our nail beds.

Actually, I _could_ use a fresh manicure.

"_Ryan_." Sharpay's fingers snapped in my face, and I jerked back to attention. "The papers?"

"Huh? Oh, right." I reached into my messenger bag and pulled out a handful of printouts, all with Gabriella Montez's smiling face showing just how amazingly smart she was. Taylor would probably give up a kidney to get Gabriella into her clique.

I stopped at the locker and was about to lean against it to slip the papers in when Sharpay grabbed my arm and pulled me several lockers down. "Eleventh from the _right_, Ryan. That's left."

"I got mixed up," I mumbled defensively, but felt my face heat up. Casually, we leaned against the (correct) locker, and I smoothly slid the papers into it behind my back. Sharpay briefly took out her compact and flattened her hair while I ran a hand along the brim of my flat cap. Then, in unison, we pushed off from the locker and strutted down the hall toward our next class.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Listen closely and watch my mouth when I speak. It won't work unless they're _wireless hand microphones_."

"But… but what about the headsets you used last fall?" the techie asked meekly, looking badgered. "Weren't those good enough?"

"They were fabulous. But our dance requires hand mics, not headsets. Get it? _Now go find some hand mics!_" The techie yelped and scurried off, and Shar sat back with a put-upon sigh.

It was right after last period. Sharpay and I were seated in the front row of the auditorium, surrounded by the rarely-spoken-of part of the Drama Club known as the "tech crew." Usually, we wouldn't be caught dead mingling with them, but we had no choice at the moment. Ms. Darbus had sentenced us to detention, meaning we had to paint sets and screw in light bulbs like lowly techies. Neither of us were particularly happy about it: I brooded while Sharpay took her indignant anger out on those lower than her. Which just so happened to include the entire student body.

Everyone in the auditorium flinched as a banging sound echoed around the room. Then, it happened again. A moment later, two voices that everybody knew accompanied the bangs.

"…so weird back here. I _hate_ detention with Darbus."

_Bang_.

"It's just fifteen minutes. Then we can bail and head back to practice."

_Bang bang._

"Let's hope so. With the championship match next week, we can't afford to miss it."

The jocks were here. And, from the sound of it, they'd brought a basketball.

"I just hope Coach isn't too mad."

_Bang._

"Dude, if your dad asks, this is all _your _fault."

A moment later, Troy and his poofy-haired sidekick walked out of one of the stage's wings, Troy spinning the basketball on one finger.

Out of Troy's Army of Jocks, there were four of note. The first was, of course, Troy himself. Intense, talented Troy Bolton, son of the basketball coach, natural leader, and heartthrob of most of the school. He had just a slight air of untouchability about him that made him all the more enticing. As if he needed it.

The second notable jock was Zeke Baylor, who was generally very amicable and casually upbeat, but for some reason took regular shots at Sharpay, and only Sharpay. We did our best to ignore it, since jock robots (other than Troy) were generally not worth the effort.

The third jock was Jason Cross, who had such a bad habit of speaking before thinking that the things out of his mouth often bordered on disturbing. I'd shared a couple "special"classes with him over the years. I at least had the excuse of having a diagnosed learning disability; Jason, I think, was just not that bright.

And last but certainly not least, there was Chad Danforth, the poofy-haired sidekick…. Troy's second-in-command, fashion-challenged class clown, and captain of the macho patrol. He'd already been following Troy around for the better part of a decade when Sharpay and I had moved to Albuquerque. From the moment I first spotted him, following Troy like a beloved dog and sporting an over-done brotherly buds-for-life codependent thing, I knew. Every time he and Troy were together in a room, it was like my gaydar was assaulted by a barrage of gunfire, each ping screaming "Over there! There's a totally repressed over-compensating closet case _right there_!" Of course, if I were ever to tell him this, he'd deny it to the death, because he was so _macho_ and _manly._

I found it _really_ amusing. Poor deluded jocks.

"How is it my fault?" Troy rolled the basketball off his finger and down his arm. Then, he gripped it and bounced it across the stage to Chad.

_Bang_.

"You're the one who pulled out a cell phone in Ms. Darbus's homeroom, and wow, there's a really loud echo in here." Chad bounced the ball twice more, seemingly for the sole purpose of hearing it hit the hollow stage again.

I winced and rubbed my ears to get the ringing out, while Sharpay couldn't hold back anymore and unleashed her vitriol. "Stop doing that, you obnoxious poodle-headed… jock-person!"

Chad gave Sharpay a look of pure loathing, as the second-in-command of one clique to the leader of another. "What are you so wound up about, Ice Princess? You _like_ being here."

"Not for detention!"

Troy defensively blurted, "It _wasn't_ my fault!" before Chad could respond.

Shar looked at Troy, and her entire manner changed. "Of course it wasn't your fault, Troy." She scurried up onto the stage and gave Troy a sunny smile. I followed at a more relaxed pace. "It was Gabriella's fault for not turning off her cell phone."

"But… we didn't have ours off either," I pointed out mildly.

Shar spun and hissed, "_Shut up, _Ryan!" and I obediently snapped my mouth shut. Then, she whirled back and gave Troy a bubbly giggle. The all-star looked a little disturbed and started edging away.

Meanwhile, Chad threw me a glance that clearly read "you are such a tool." I ignored it.

"It wasn't Gabriella's fault, either," Troy said, casting Sharpay guarded looks.

"Then whose fault was it, Troy?" Sharpay cooed, obviously delighted to just be talking to him. She took a step toward him, and Troy leaned away from her.

"Does it have to be anyone's fault? I mean, why blame anyone? Can't we all just get along?"

"That's _soo_ poetic, Troy." Sharpay took another step forward, her face inches from his. "I think you and me could get along _really _well, if we tried."

_BANG._

Everyone jumped as Chad threw the basketball into the stage, filling the auditorium with a sound like a gunshot. I bit back an amused laugh, knowing why he'd done that probably better than _he _did. Chad must have seen my smug expression, because he turned a "what are you looking at?" glare at me. I averted my eyes and cleared my face of all expression.

"Mr. Danforth, this is a theatre, not a football court." Ms. Darbus walked in from the back of the auditorium, adjusting her glasses. "Please, put that away. If I see it again before your detention is over, you'll have to pick it up tomorrow, in homeroom."

Chad moved the ball protectively behind his back, which was very much _not_ what Ms. Darbus had asked. But it seemed to be good enough for her.

She dropped her things on the table in front of the stage and peered up at us through her thick glasses. "There are only four of you. Who are we missing?"

"Taylor McKessie and Gabriella Montez, Ms. Darbus," Sharpay volunteered cheerily.

As if on cue, the door to the back of the auditorium burst open, and Taylor McKessie hurried in. "Sorry I'm late! I had to speak with Mrs. Phillipi about an upcoming assignment. But I'm here now, and I'm ready to work!" She stopped in front of Ms. Darbus, nearly bouncing in her excitement.

"Looks like she got our message," Sharpay whispered, smirking.

"Let's just hope Gabriella takes the bait," I whispered back.

"Sharpay! Ryan!"

We both snapped to attention, surprised and a little insulted to be on the sharper end of Ms. Darbus's tongue, for once. Usually, when she called our names, her voice was filled with pride, not impatience.

The tech crew was starting to set up around us, wheeling out scenery and props that needed to be worked on, pulling out costuming supplies so that they could take Sharpay's latest measurements right now to save time after we were cast, and generally doing all that menial drudge-work that we, as the performers, couldn't be bothered with. Taylor climbed up onto the stage and the five of us stood in a line at the center, while Ms. Darbus took her usual spot in front of the stage.

Taking a breath, Ms. Darbus launched into what was probably a well-used speech. "You are all here to pay penance, but do not think of it as punishment. Think of it as an opportunity—a chance to give a couple minutes of your young lives to the eternal theatre…"

Once again, the door in the back of the auditorium slammed open, and Gabriella came running in. Ms. Darbus turned and gave her a look over her glasses.

"You're _late,_ Miss Montez."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I couldn't find my school map, and I got a little lost." Her chipmunky face was pinched with worry. She scrambled onto the stage and stood awkwardly catching her breath at the end of our mismatched chorus line.

Ms. Darbus eyed the six of us for a moment, then said, "Be that as it may, we are on a schedule here. I shall overlook it this time, but let's hope it doesn't happen again."

The Einsteinette nodded gratefully, her face reddening and her eyes on the floor.

"Now where was I…?"

"You were just about to dismiss us?" The poofy-haired sidekick suggested hopefully.

"Nice try, Mr. Danforth."

Sharpay said, "You were just telling us about what an amazing opportunity working in the theatre will be. _I_, for one, am very excited to get to work. Aren't you, Ryan?"

"Um… not really, sis." She gave me a sugary smile and stamped a heel on my foot. "I mean, absolutely. Yes. I've always wanted to paint sets and sew costumes. It's my life's greatest ambition?" I cast a confused glance at Sharpay, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. I really had no idea what she was trying to do.

Ms. Darbus, however, ate it up. She clapped her hands. "Splendid. Johnny, fetch the paint cans and brushes, and someone find me a stapler. It's time to make magic happen!" In a flutter of scarves, she walked up onto the stage and started delegating tasks.

"What was that about?" I asked my sister.

"It got her to shut up, didn't it? Did you _want_ to listen to _another _of her 'chapel of the arts' speeches?"

"Oooooh."

"Yes. _Oh_."

Ms. Darbus motioned us over to a ladder, a bucket of paint at her feet. As we passed the jocks, who were already positioned around a tree cutout, I heard Chad mumble, "Dude, since when does _he_ _talk_?"

I glanced over in time to see Troy shrug. Both boys were watching me through the corners of their eyes, but as soon as they saw me looking, they innocently turned and got to work. I took the free moment to appreciate Troy's basketball-sculpted arms; at some point, he'd shucked his jacket.

Then, Shar thrust a paint bucket into my chest, and I was set to work painting a stepladder—I repeat, _a stepladder_—goldenrod. Why? I had no idea.

It wasn't long before Taylor took her chance to induct Gabriella into her troupe. At first, the new girl seemed reluctant—Shar didn't help any by butting into their conversation for what Dad might call a "hard sell"—but it wasn't long before the two girls were casually conversing about other topics, and we knew we had won.

It was also pretty satisfying when the basketball coach stormed in and dragged the two jocks away, lest their fifteen minutes in the drama department turn them into singing, dancing fairy boys like… well… me. It was satisfying because Troy barely spared a glance at Gabriella the entire time—whatever had been going on that morning did not seem to be happening now.

o-o-o-o-o-o

The next day, we had auditions. All the usual faces were there, plus a few hopefuls from the music cliques or the English and literature departments. There were plenty of people who couldn't carry a tune, and no jocks or Einsteinettes as far as the eye could see.

Shar and I sang our number, showing once again why we were co-presidents of the Drama Club, and, after Shar threw a tantrum at the shy little composer girl, we left feeling giddy and confident that we were starring in our 18th school production together.

The day after auditions, we checked the list to see who would play the secondary roles. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Sharpay shrieked, "_CALLBACK?_" and let out an ear-splitting scream with lungs that only a singer could possess. In the distance, I thought I heard dogs starting to howl.

Heart hammering with dread, I positioned myself in front of the sheet and dared to read it for myself. "Callback for rolls Arnold and Minnie. Next Thursday, three thirty pm. Ryan and Sharpay Evans. Gabriella Montez and Troy Bolton."

At some point during the night, the world had turned upside-down. We had callbacks.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Shar shrieked. "They didn't even audition!"

That had to be it, because we were the Evans twins. We _never_ had callbacks. We never _needed_ them. "Maybe we're being Punk'd."

Shar gave a wound-up, "What?"

"Maybe… we're being filmed right now! Maybe we'll get to meet Ashton!"

"Oh shut up, Ryan!" Shar snapped.

I heard laughter behind me, and instantly blanked my face in humiliation. As if the jocks hearing me gush over a celebrity crush weren't bad enough, they had to do it today? Now? When I felt like a single jibe from any one of them might make the world end?

Oh God, it was really happening, wasn't it? We had callbacks. The world wasn't _going_ to end—because it already had, and Sharpay and I were in Hell.

A mane of poofy hair entered my peripheral vision and I heard Chad's amused voice ask, "What's wrong?" His laughter evaporated as he leaned over my shoulder and saw the list, too. "What?" He turned his face toward me with disbelief in his brown eyes, and we locked gazes, noses only a foot apart. For a fleeting moment, we were linked by our mutual horror, and the overwhelming sense that something was very much not right. Then, I averted my eyes. He glanced at Shar, and, clutching his basketball protectively to himself, he fled.

Shar made a noise and stormed off. I knew I should probably follow her, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from that awful, awful list. Over and over again, I read the names, each time praying feebly that I was just reading them wrong. Even the Army of Jocks clustered around me, all leaning in to peer at the callback list, couldn't shake me more than those stupid, evil words.

o-o-o-o-o-o

As the day wore on, it only got worse. The gossip about star athlete Troy Bolton's secret singing career was like a bad disease. Soon, other people started spouting unlikely secrets. A nerd declared her passion for hip-hop dancing. A skater boy proclaimed his love of the cello. And _Zeke_ _Baylor_, basketball robot, announced that his greatest dream was to create the perfect crème brûlée.

Sharpay panicked. I tried to be calm and steady for her, I really did… and it was a test of my skills as a thespian to act like I wasn't on the edge of panic myself. We were King and Queen of the Arts… we'd earned those thrones! Thrones can't just be… usurped! Even if Troy and Gabriella didn't go to callbacks, people were questioning the system, and our hard-earned palace suddenly seemed to be made of glass.

Yes, I know this seems like we were over-reacting, but you really have to try to understand. Theater was who we _were_. It _defined_ us. If Sharpay lost the theater, she would lose the vital support group that kept her sustained. If I lost the theater, I would lose the only place where I ever felt comfortable.

And we might lose it to a jock and a brainiac, neither of which had any _right_ to intrude on our turf. Had they spent their childhoods slaving over piano lessons, done voice exercises until they were hoarse, or danced until they didn't have the strength to stand? We had. We'd given up most of our childhoods to the theater. And the fact that they could compare to us without even trying was positively heart-breaking.

When Gabriella accidentally (I think) spilled her nachos all over Sharpay's pink print truncated blazer at lunch, Shar snapped. She let out a scream in a pitch that she often had trouble reaching in our voice lessons, and was so distressed that she didn't even fight Gabriella off as the new girl tried to rub the mess off, effectively only rubbing it _in_. I heard her biting back sobs and would have done anything to fix the problem, if I'd had any idea how.

Fortunately, Sharpay was always thinking of her next step. She didn't dwell on her misery long, and, as Ms. Darbus appeared at her shoulder and asked an outraged "What is going on here?" to the cafeteria as a whole, Shar concocted a scheme then and there.

"Look at this!" she cried in not-entirely-fake outrage. "That Gabriella girl just dumped her lunch on me! On purpose! It's all part of their plan to ruin our musical, and Troy and his basketball robots are obviously behind it." She was using all her acting skills, putting a hint of quaver into her voice. "Why do you think he auditioned? After all the hard work you've put into this show…" She turned toward the jock table and tearfully shouted, "It just doesn't seem right!" then turned and made a dramatic exit.

Ms. Darbus took off in the other direction, and I was left standing alone at the scene, holding the fateful tray of nachos. Eventually, I headed back up to the Drama Club table and picked at my lunch. Kelsi Nielsen, the shy little music girl who had written the upcoming production, cast me some sympathetic glances. I wasn't entirely sure why.

o-o-o-o-o-o

I was digging through my locker after lunch when I heard someone say, "Hey, do you have a minute?" behind me. I didn't really register it at first, because there was no reason for anyone to talk to me when Sharpay wasn't there. The voice gave a hesitant, "Um, hello?"

I glanced back, and jumped when I saw Zeke Baylor looking right at me, an earnest, mildly bemused expression on his face.

"I just need a second."

I glanced around me, just checking to make sure that there wasn't someone he was more likely to talk to nearby: Troy, Ms. Darbus, the _president of the United States…_

Zeke seemed to be discouraged by my (lack of) response, but he asked: "What does Sharpay like to eat? Like, what baked goods?"

I turned my stare back to him, still stunned.

"Cookies?" Zeke pressed. "Brownies? Pastries? Or does she prefer more hors d'oeuvres sorts of things?"

I was starting to panic a little bit. He was still _talking_, and his expression was drooping more with each second. Did he expect me to answer back? I had no idea how to respond to this guy. This was a _jock_ who had just come out as a _closet baker_, and who was asking questions about my _sister_, who I'd always thought he'd _hated_.

"How about tarts? Quiches? …Anything?"

I think I blinked.

He sighed. "Forget it. Never… never mind." He turned away, looking utterly dejected, and things clicked into place in my head.

"Chocolate."

He turned back, a hopeful puppy-dog look in his eyes. In an effort to act casual about this unfamiliar "human interaction" thing, I turned away and finished rooting through my locker.

"She loves anything that has chocolate in it—cookies, brownies, fudge. As long as it's quality chocolate, not that grocery store semi-sweet stuff." I closed my locker softly and dared to turn and meet his eyes. "And she won't eat it before a major performance, because of what it does to her complexion, and the way it tightens up her throat. But she secretly adores it; she'd never turn it down."

"Chocolate," Zeke repeated, a dreamy smile slowly spreading over his face. "I can do that. Thanks… thanks a lot!"

I gave him an awkward nod and headed off to class, leaving him standing by my locker, grinning like a maniac.


	3. Razzle Dazzle

**Chapter 2: Razzle Dazzle**

"Is everything all right, Ducky?"

I opened my eyes. Mom had dropped out of her lizard pose, and was looking at me with concern from the mat beside mine. The mirrors in our studio showed me my own troubled expression.

"Are you having trouble finding your center?"

"A little, Mom. I feel… off balance, I guess."

She nodded and stretching into a downward facing dog. As I matched her position, she said, "Would you like to tell me about it?"

I took a deep breath, finding my focus in a way that I could only do during yoga and dancing. "It's…. there's this thing at school. Someone else tried out for our parts in Twinkle Towne."

"Ah yes. I think I heard your sister mention something about that." By 'mention' she meant 'throw a tantrum about and then wheel off to the mall for some serious retail therapy,' but neither of us really needed to say that. In unison, we moved up into a warrior pose. "I think it's wonderful. There's nothing that brings out an Evans's best like healthy competition."

Mom had such a serene way of looking at things. "If it were just that, you know we'd simply knock them dead, as usual. But things are… weird, now."

"Oh? How so?"

"It's like… ever since Troy Bolton auditioned, it's suddenly cool to announce your secret passions in the cafeteria."

"Troy Bolton…" Mom said thoughtfully as we moved into a different warrior pose. "He's that basketball boy, right?" She cast me a knowing look, and I felt my face go warm.

"That's not the point, Mom. People are doing stuff they have no business doing. A jock's baking things for Shar, a nerd's break-dancing in the halls, and a skateboarder's handing out invitations to his next cello recital. Can't they all just stick to what they're supposed to, and not… cross lines?"

She dropped out of her pose and turned to me, concern written all over her face. "Is this about Newport?"

I dropped my pose too. "No." She arched an eyebrow. "It's not. I just… I'm worried. What if they get our parts? Where does that leave me and Shar?"

"Oh, Ducky." She smiled softly and ran the back of her hand across my cheek, then pulled me into a hug. "You are a wonderful, talented young man. Whether you get the part or not, you will always be my sparkling little star. Don't let a silly thing like a singing athlete make you question that."

"Thanks, Mom." I did my best to look comforted. Mom had apparently forgotten everything she'd ever known about high school.

o-o-o-o-o-o

After a good night's rest—and after putting a serious dent in our inheritances with Dad's credit card—Sharpay had adjusted and adopted a new Purpose: she simply intended to show everyone _why_ the Evans Twins were a force to be reckoned with on the stage. She selected a spicy salsa number for our callback, and we spent most of Thursday memorizing it.

On Friday, I commandeered the auditorium during free period. I walked onto the empty stage carrying a CD player in one hand and with a wooden stool slung over the other shoulder. I set the stool down in the back and put the CD player on it, then started pushing pieces of the set out of the way until I had an open space to work with.

Once that was done, I walked to centerstage, closed my eyes, pressed my palms together in front of me, and took a deep breath. Then, I opened my eyes. Immediately, a wealth of ideas poured into my mind, painting the stage like an open canvas, tracking any number of possible paths and moves. I could see a ghost of Shar moving across the stage, whirling her hips to the beat. And that ladder—certainly there was a use for a ladder in a song called "Bop to the Top."

Smiling, I pulled the CD player's remote out of my pocket and pressed the play button. A Latin rhythm filled the theater, and I sprang into motion.

When I'm dancing, time loses all meaning. I become engrossed in the music and the movements elicited by it. Designing a dance, especially, transports me into this world where all that exists is the beat.

And so, I don't know how much later it was when I performed a leap across the stage and turned to find Kelsi Nielsen watching me from the aisle. I nearly lost my balance, and her gray eyes widened at being caught. After an awkward moment staring at each other, I pulled out the remote and paused the music.

"Sorry…" she whispered, dropping her eyes. "I just left some… I'm sorry. I'll just be a minute."

I nodded and looked away as she scurried up on stage and started rifling through some papers on a card table. I shuffled around awkwardly as I waited for her to finish.

However, as she flipped through the papers, a thought occurred to me. Kelsi was the club pianist, and the musical's creator. She'd _had_ to be present at auditions. "So, Troy and Gabriella… did they audition?"

She turned, peeking at me from under the brim of her blue plaid welder's cap. "Huh?"

"They _did_ audition, right? They're not being allowed to do this just because Troy's the school all-star… right?"

She nodded and went back to rooting, obviously anxious to get going. "Yeah, they auditioned. After you and Sharpay left."

"Oh." I went back to shifting my feet, looking around the theater as if I hadn't seen it a hundred times before. "Do they seem serious about it?"

"Yeah. They're… they're both practicing really hard."

"Really? With you?"

She nodded down at the card table.

"Hmm." I rested my hands on my hips.

After a moment of silence except for rustling papers, Kelsi hesitantly asked, "So that dance… is that the dance you're going to do for the callback?"

"Not yet." At her curious look, I added, "I'm still working on it."

"Wait… those dances you two always do for auditions… _you_ design them?"

I couldn't help but smile a little as I nodded.

"I always thought you hired someone, or something."

"Nope." My smile had turned into a full-blown grin. "I would never do that. The creative process is just so satisfying."

She smiled too—a sweet little quirk of her lips. "I know what you mean. I know I need to finish the musical by next Thursday, but I just can't stop adding my ideas to it. I want it to be just right."

"Yes, exactly! When you see a perfectly done piece, you just know it. You get…"

"…shivers?" She had found what she was looking for—a music folder—and was clasping it to her chest, fully facing me.

"Yeah. I want to make people feel that."

"Me too."

"If everything goes right, you'll get the chance this winter."

Her cheeks turned pink. "Maybe."

"What do you mean 'maybe?' This _is _your musical we're performing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure how much will be left by opening night. I was so scared during auditions, because nothing was like I imagined at all. There were so many people who didn't fit my ideas for the cast. And then you and Sharpay…" She cut herself off, ducking her head in embarrassment.

I nodded, remembering how we'd had our rehearsal pianist give the audition number a little pep. "Well, you gave us a ballad. Sharpay's voice isn't very good for those, and I'd rather audition with a number that allows lots of movement."

She peeked up at me from under the brim of her cap. "I suppose that makes sense. You wouldn't do that for the show, would you?"

"Nah. We've been in theater long enough to know that a show needs songs of all speeds." I paused. "Or at least… I have. Shar might need a couple more years, actually."

I don't think I'd ever seen Kelsi smile so broadly in all the years I'd known her. Then again, I'd never known her all that well, and we'd certainly never had a conversation like this before. Most of our previous interactions had comprised of "What key?" and "Let's redo the section after the coda." This was nice.

She nodded to me and took a couple steps toward the exit, then turned and said, "Well, good luck. I hope the better pair gets the parts, I really do."

"Thanks. I hope they do, too." I didn't tell her that I thought Shar and I would be that pair.

She smiled sweetly and walked off. As I turned the music back on, I felt a fresh wave of inspiration sweep over me. It was the first time I'd connected with someone not related to me since Newport, and I was surprised to find that I actually enjoyed it. It was as if not all relationships were as draining as the one I had with Sharpay, or something.

Of course, if I ever expressed that thought to Shar, she'd likely do something drastic. Like break my legs. Or burn all my hats. She was evil like that.

o-o-o-o-o-o

That weekend, Shar and I were in full mission mode. We spent a couple hours at the mall to coordinate costumes, then spent the rest of the time in our dance studio with the stereo system on full-blast. By Monday, we had our number down—at least as much as we usually did, because we rarely prepared a number without some minor disagreements.

Meanwhile, the school continued its foray into the Twilight Zone. A cheerleader started displaying her flower paintings in the hall. A member of the Debate Team beat-boxed at lunch, which had Martha Cox, the hip-hop dancing nerd, jamming on the table. Even Elliot Johnson, a member of the Drama Club since freshman year, who I had a passable rapport with, showed off his collection of Star Wars figurines. When Shar and I spotted Taylor and Chad chatting in a science classroom—when both would never have been caught dead with the other before—we knew that we were in trouble. Things were changing at East High, and it all stemmed from Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez. We had to beat them, no matter what.

On Wednesday, things reached a peak. Shar and I had just finished a lunch period rehearsal, and were heading out of the drama department to catch a late meal, singing quietly to ourselves as we went. We were brought up short by the sound coming out of one of the music rooms, and, in sync, we cocked our ears to listen.

It was singing. And it was beautiful.

"Wow," I said, turning to meet Shar's shocked eyes. It was easy to identify who the voices belonged to. "They sound good."

She made a noise and shoved past me to press herself up against the window to peer in. After a moment, she gasped and whirled, real fear on her face. "We have to do something." Her steps hastened with Purpose, she sped down the hall and entered 'scheming' mode.

I followed after her, relying on her to come up with something. I'd never honestly thought Troy and Gabriella had a chance against us, not if we were giving it our all. Now, being legitimately beat out seemed like a very real possibility.

"Okay. Our callback's on Thursday. And the basketball game and scholastic decathlon are on Friday." She quirked her head to one side, and I knew she had an idea. "Too bad all these events weren't happening on the same day." She stopped walking and smiled smugly, putting a hand on one hip. "At the same time."

I tried to follow her logic. "Well, that wouldn't work out because then Troy and Gabriella wouldn't be able to make the…" It clicked, and Sharpay gave me a 'duh' look. I just smiled. "I'm proud to call you my sister."

She preened at the praise. "I know." Then, she sashayed briskly down a side-corridor and headed back toward the drama department. Or, more specifically, Ms. Darbus's office.

It took us a little while to track her down. She wasn't in her office, or in her classroom. We actually found her on her way to the theater, and Sharpay immediately sprang into action.

"Ms. Darbus! Can we talk to you for a minute?"

Ms. Darbus glanced back at us and paused. "If this is about the ladder again, you don't need to worry about it. I've got some boys who will finish decorating it in detention tonight."

"Actually, Ms. Darbus…" Sharpay fell into step beside the Drama Club's faculty advisor, and I walked behind them. "…this is about the callbacks tomorrow. We overheard Troy talking to his friends, and they're going to pull a huge prank. Something that could cause the principal to drop the theater program altogether. We're really worried." We passed through a door and entered the auditorium's backstage area. "But if Troy and his basketball robots are all busy with the big game, they won't be able to do it. That's why Ryan and I, as club co-presidents, actually think it would be better if—"

"I don't want to hear anymore about Troy Bolton and that Montez girl," Ms. Darbus cut Shar off. "If you're telling me, as co-presidents of the Drama Club, that changing the callbacks would be what's best for our theater program then…" She stopped walking and executed a dramatic turn. "…I might actually agree with you." She lingered for a moment, looking at us, then left.

"Is that a yes?" I asked Sharpay, just to make sure. When she winked and strutted out, I smiled. No, it wasn't fair, but… that's showbiz.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Friday rolled around without further incident (well, except for once, on Thursday, when I bumped into Chad Danforth in the halls and for a moment swore he wanted to beat the snot out of me. Then, because he was weird, he smirked and walked off without comment), and Shar and I were somewhat surprised to see the smiles on the faces of Troy and Gabriella in homeroom. The Army of Jocks slid into the classroom, sporting their red uniform jackets and mischievous grins. Zeke produced a cake and presented it to Gabriella and Taylor, to much excited exclaiming from the class brainiacs.

The two then stood up and showed the jocks a whiteboard full of numbers and diagrams. I nearly laughed as the jocks tried to look excited, until Sharpay prodded me in the shoulder, and I blanked my face. Giggling, Gabriella flipped the whiteboard to reveal a colorful picture, and the guys all went, "ooooooh!" as the girls started pummeling them with fluffy stuffed basketballs.

I watched them curiously. It was strange, seeing Taylor McKessie, of all people, joking around with jocks. But… she looked happy. Always, Taylor had been uptight and closed off to all but her fellow brains. But here she was, laughing and playing around with the people she'd always disdained, and looking like she was having the time of her life.

I turned to Sharpay, who was fixing her hair using her reflection in… a piece of tin foil? "They don't seem that upset about the callbacks."

"They've probably accepted it by now. As well they should."

"If they'd had a fair chance, you don't think they actually might have—"

"Hey!" I was interrupted by Chad's cheery face grinning over us where we sat. "Come on, we've got to show you something!" Laughing, he grabbed Sharpay by the elbow and pushed her to the door of the classroom. I followed after them, confused and a little pleased that Chad was including Shar and me in the morning's excitement. The jock positioned Shar in the doorway. "Stay right there. Watch."

I looked over her shoulder, and could see the entire basketball team assembled in the hall. Ms. Darbus was hustled into the doorway with us, and that seemed to be the jocks' cue. Chad's face lit into an amazing lollygag grin as he backed into the formation and announced, "From our team to yours."

Then, one by one, the jocks opened their jackets to reveal lettered T-shirts underneath. It was… charming, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at being included in something.

Too bad I couldn't make out what the shirts said. As if having twelve of the most attractive boys in the school lined up in front of me with their jackets open weren't distraction enough, having an array of individual letters instead of complete words meant that I had to sound out each and every one. Out loud.

And yet, even at my most dyslexic, even when Sharpay looked embarrassed for me and huffed off, even then… the jocks didn't say a word about it. Chad smiled and gave me a genial pat on the back as they all filed past me back into the classroom, sending tingles up my shoulder.

Okay, so maybe the pat had been somewhat mocking… but still.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The day passed quickly. Most of the school was abuzz about the championship game. Those that weren't were excited about the decathlon or stressing about callbacks. By fourth period, the teachers had stopped trying and were giving into the excitement themselves.

After school, Shar and I headed into the auditorium determined to give the callback our best, even if we wouldn't have anyone against us. We were the Evans Twins; we wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect.

As I was moving the newly-decorated and sparkling stepladder into position, I could see Kelsi setting up at the piano. She didn't look at me. Before, that wouldn't have been unusual, but I couldn't shake the impression that she was disappointed with me. It was probably paranoia, I told myself. What should she care what I did… it wasn't like one decent conversation made us friends.

Right?

I didn't have time to dwell on it. Once the stage was set and the lighting crew had been given their final instructions, Shar and I headed into the dressing rooms for warm-up exercises.

And then, Ms. Darbus called our names, the house lights went down, and it was show-time.

Bop to the Top... no song had ever sounded so true. We'd done everything we could, and so we were still on top. We'd worked our tails off to get there, thank-you-very-much, so what did it matter if that meant Troy and Gabriella never got their big break? That break was meant for _us_.

But, as we finished our number—and Sharpay nearly bopped me off the ladder in a move that was very much _not_ previously agreed upon—I couldn't help but notice just how empty the auditorium was. The basketball game, I suspected, was much busier.

We took our bows, and I stepped back to give Shar some extra applause, because that was what she lived for. Then, as an acknowledgement to our audience, I slipped off my fedora and tossed it to some freshmen in the back. What can I say? I'm a showman at heart.

Shar and I exited into the wings, only to be waved out again by Ms. Darbus as she made her way up onto the stage with Kelsi and that little photographer boy in tow. "Do you see why we love the theatre, people? Well done!" Shar practically glowed.

Adjusting her glasses, Ms. Darbus looked down at her clipboard for the next callback. "Ah. Troy Bolton, Gabriella Montez."

No response. No surprise.

"Troy. Gabriella."

"They'll be here," Kelsi assured her anxiously.

"The theatre, as I have often pointed out, waits for no one. I'm sorry."

Looking heartbroken, Kelsi turned and ran off into the wings. I did my best not to be bothered by it (one conversation _still_ did not make us friends!), but I could only keep the smile I exchanged with Sharpay for a moment.

"Well, we are done here. Congratulations to all. The cast list will be posted."

"No wait! Wait Ms. Darbus, wait!" Sharpay and I both stared as Troy came running down one aisle, dressed in a white tracksuit, and Gabriella came down the other in a lab-coat. "We're ready! We can sing!"

As Troy ran up onto the stage, Ms. Darbus said, "I called your names. Twice."

"Ms. Darbus, please!" Gabriella cried, joining Troy next to her. "Please!"

"Rules are rules!"

And then, a clamor rose from the back of the theatre, and we all watched in shock as students began pouring in.

Sharpay, always one to grab a chance for the spotlight, moved to join the trio. "We'll be happy to do it again for our fellow students, Ms. Darbus." She cast an excited smile out at the assembling crowd. It honestly looked like the entire school was filing in.

Ms. Darbus looked shocked, peering at the incoming audience. "I don't know what's going on here… but in any event, it's far too late, and… we have not got a pianist."

Sharpay tossed me an "oh well" look, and I said, "Well, that's showbiz."

"We'll sing without a piano!" Troy blurted, just as Kelsi appeared beside him.

"Oh no you won't," she told him, and gave an excited grin. "Pianist here, Ms. Darbus."

Shar immediately stiffened at the sight of the traitorous musician. Who, I was beginning to realize, had probably had a hand in this entire thing. "You really don't want to do that."

Fired up in a way I had never seen before, Kelsi took a step forward and looked Shar right in the eye. "Oh yes. I really do." Then, she spun and took off for the piano. "Ready on stage!" she cried, and I saw members of the tech crew move into motion in the tech booth and backstage, preparing sound, lighting, and sets.

You can never trust techies.

Shar made an indignant noise and moved to my side. Ms. Darbus said, "Now _that's _showbiz_._" A smile tugging at her lips, she took her seat in the audience.

Looking betrayed, Sharpay fled into the wings, and I followed behind, taking off my headset microphone as I did.

I felt conflicted. This was actually happening; we might actually get bumped out of the spotlight. All Sharpay's scheming had been for nothing. Still… something had happened to the game and the decathlon, just so Troy and Gabriella could sing. If I'd ever doubted that they were serious about this, I now had proof that they were willing to go to extremes for the theatre.

I stood beside Sharpay backstage, and we watched from the wings as Troy and Gabriella positioned themselves for their number.

Immediately, I noticed something wrong. Gabriella's body was drawn taut in a way that theatre performers recognize all too well. After Kelsi played the opening strains, Gabriella opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Sharpay scoffed, still seething with what some might describe as murderous rage.

Then, Troy pushed off from the piano and went to Gabriella's side, every line of his body reading of tenderness and strength. "Oh my god," I whispered, putting a hand to my lips.

And that's when everything—_everything_—clicked into place. Troy Bolton, who was the school's primo athlete and greatest heartthrob, yet who had always remained untouchable and untouched by all but his closest friends, had fallen in love.

When Troy motioned for Kelsi to begin again, I kept my hand to my lips. A backdrop rolled down behind them, and the lighting shifted to soft blue, but neither Troy nor Gabriella seemed to notice. They were too busy looking in one another's eyes. It was so unbelievably sappy, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. They took one another's hands, and I nearly felt my heart break, even as the cavities started forming from the sheer sweetness.

I looked at Sharpay. She was staring out at the pair, her lip quivering ever so slightly. I put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, determined to weather this one alone. She'd always been more invested in Troy than I had—sure, I'd admired him from afar, but I'd never let myself get any more attached than that, because I knew I would never have him. Shar, on the other hand, had by all accounts _assumed_ she would eventually get him. She'd been chasing him for years.

I saw silent tears spill out of her eyes. Later, I knew, I'd have to hold her together. But she wanted to be strong for now, so I let her be.

Troy and Gabriella were, as they kept repeating in the song, breaking free. I watched Gabriella slowly unwind under Troy's gentle guidance, until she was shucking off her lab-coat to reveal an adorable sundress underneath and twirling around stage. Troy, too, grew stronger in his performance as he grew accustomed to the spotlight, his natural charisma like a shining beacon. Their chemistry was spectacular, and their earnest performance soon had the audience on their feet, clapping along.

"You know, sis. I've been thinking," I whispered.

Shar gave me a wry look through her tears. "That maybe one show isn't the end of the world?"

"Actually, I was thinking that we should probably stop playing romantic interests opposite each-other. It stopped being cute years ago, and I think Ms. Darbus is getting sick of writing out all the kissing scenes."

She stared at me a moment, and then a genuine smile graced her lips. We locked gazes, wordless understanding passing between us. Then, as one, we blanked our faces and turned back to the two unlikely stars on stage.


	4. Consider Yourself

**Chapter 3: Consider Yourself**

The decathlon and the championship game were both postponed to the next day while the gym's scoreboard was fixed and the entire science wing was aired of some sort of noxious chemical. Oh yes, the Wildcats had certainly gone all-out to get Troy and Gabriella to sing, and my traitorous brain couldn't help but envy them friends like that.

It was eight in the morning when Sharpay burst into my room and started tearing through my closet. I blinked owlishly over at her from under my duvet. "Wuzzah?"

"Get up, Ryan. The game starts in four hours, and you're not even dressed!"

"Huh?"

Shar poked her head out of my closet and gave me an impatient look. "The _basketball_ game? Hello?"

I hadn't known we were attending. I mumbled something to that effect and threw my pillow over my head, wondering why oh why I couldn't have a sister who wasn't a _crazy person_. What had happened to her quietly mourning her broken heart? That's what a _normal_ girl would have done.

My covers were torn off. "Of _course_ we're going to the game. _Everyone's_ going. We have to make an appearance."

"Make an appearance?" I reluctantly sat up, rubbing sleep out of my eyes as Shar strutted back into my closet. "It's a basketball game, not a celebrity mixer."

She ignored me, coming out with two of my shirts, one crimson and the other burgundy. "Maybe one of these, with your red velvet fedora?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm wearing red today, I guess?"

She gave me a "duh" look, and tossed the shirts on my bed next to me. I scrambled to grab them before they creased. Shar went back into my closet. "I'm wearing all white, so you need plenty of red to match. With black slacks, for contrast."

"Why don't you just wear a little red?" I draped the shirts over my arm and stood up.

"Because I don't have any."

"What?" I joined my sister in the closet, hanging the shirts back in their proper places. "Yes you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes. You do."

"No, _Ryan_. I don't."

"Shar, I distinctly recall you going through a red phase three months ago. You bought at least thirty outfits."

"Well, I don't have them anymore. I burned all my reds when Troy got callbacks."

It took a moment for that to register. When it did, I opened my mouth, but couldn't find any words to express my thoughts. Giving up, I pushed it all aside and moved on.

"Which whites?"

"The tank with the accents around the collar. The pants with the glitter embedded in the seams, a sequin purse, and that silver necklace Daddy gave me two years ago."

"Lots of sparkle, then. How about this?" I pulled out a red silk button-up with asymmetrical imprints across the front. "Just a bit of shine, a little pizzazz but nothing overstated."

"Fabulous!" She picked out a pair of pants, and we exited my closet in unison.

"So we're doing the school spirit thing, now?"

"It seems to be what everyone's into, and we are _not_ being school pariahs just because you don't want to go to a basketball game."

"Pariahs. Because of a basketball game. If you say so, sis."

She gave me a look and tossed my slacks at my face. "Get dressed. And when you're done, meet me in the bathroom so we can do my hair."

An hour later, we entered our family's breakfast nook to find Mom and Dad already there. Mom was in her yoga outfit, cooling down from her morning workout with a cup of herbal tea and the most recent new-age title open in front of her. Dad was still in his velvet robe, and was reading the business section of the newspaper over his coffee (a look of deep concentration always crossed his face when he did that, but he never asked for help). He glanced up at us with a quick "Morning, kids," then did a double-take. Slowly, a smile spread over his face as he set the paper down.

"Are you coming with me to the game today?" he asked, not bothering to mask his surprise.

"Of course we are, Daddy!" Sharpay said, her squeaky 'Daddy's girl' voice making me stick my pinky in my ear to get the ringing out. "It's the big championship game!"

As we sat at the table, Dad cast a sidelong grin at Mom, who was sitting across from him. "You should come with, blossom. It could be an Evans family outing."

Mom was unmoved. "Can't. I have a spa day with the girls later today. You three have fun."

Dad just smiled fondly at her and turned back to us. Sharpay had, naturally, settled down next to him, while I sat across from her, next to Mom. "I hear Troy Bolton's pretty hot this year. You think the Wildcats will go all the way?"

I coughed to hide my grin at the thought that, yes, Troy Bolton _was_ pretty hot, but then, wasn't he always? I had a broken-hearted sister to think about here.

Shar made a huffy noise. "Troy Bolton's fine, _I guess_. If you're impressed by someone who can throw balls through hoops."

"Did everything go all right at callbacks, pumpkin?" Mom asked, which was very much _not_ the right thing to say. I could see a manic look pass through Shar's eyes, so I leapt in before she had a chance to let it out.

"We don't know yet. Ms. Darbus doesn't post the cast list until Monday."

Dad looked confused. "What's this now?"

"Someone auditioned against them in the school musical," Mom explained.

"Ah. Well, there's nothing wrong with a little competition. Why, if I hadn't had the hurdles I did, I never would have reached the top of—"

"Daddy," Sharpay said in that 'you're annoying me but I'm still your adorable little girl' voice.

Dad pulled her into a brief, one-armed hug. "Well, you know how the rest of it goes. Besides, it's not the end of the world if you don't get the parts, right?" He then reached across the table to pat my shoulder, absently straightening my hat before retracting his hand. "Maybe that will free up some time for other things. Only a couple months until baseball season, right son?"

"Dad."

If he heard the annoyance in my voice, he ignored it. "Nothing wrong with branching out and trying new things, am I right?" He took a sip of his coffee and stood up. "Now that we're all here, let's see if we can't do something about breakfast."

As he left the nook toward the kitchen, I did a quick breathing exercise to settle my rising nerves. Mom squeezed my hand comfortingly, which made Sharpay roll her eyes. I stuck my tongue out at her and gallantly didn't comment on her squeaky 'Daddy's Girl' voice.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After about twenty minutes of sitting in the East High bleachers, I had come to the conclusion that basketball was the gayest sport on the planet.

Well, actually, no. Baseball probably still held that spot. And football was pretty gay, too. But basketball was definitely in the top ten.

It involved, as far as I could make out, a bunch of well-built, scantily-clad young men sweating and panting in one another's faces as they attempted to insert an _orange_ _ball_ into a _hole_. To say nothing of the concept of "shooting" for said hole: a process that involved the player who was doing the shooting to coil all their muscles and release them in a single climactic motion.

Dad had disappeared long ago to join one of his business associates up near the front of the stands. A couple minutes later, Sharpay had taken off in search of Ms. Darbus, because she was too impatient to wait until Monday to find out whether we'd gotten the parts or not. I hadn't had the heart to go with her, partly because I feared the answer, and partly because I didn't want to be within scratching distance in case the news was bad.

This left me alone in the stands, surrounded by what seemed to be the entire student body and their families, and trying to look like I belonged there. The cheerleaders occasionally led the crowd in songs and chants that were nothing like I'd ever experienced on stage, to say nothing of that "wave" thing (which, I admit, I joined in on once I figured out how it worked). I did my best to look like I _wasn't_ experiencing a nasty case of culture shock and really wishing Shar would come back soon to rescue me. It was a test of my acting skills.

I mainly distracted myself by admiring the array of man-candy on the court. Now that Troy Bolton was off the market, I found my focus slipping toward the rest of the jocks in a way that it never had before. It didn't take me long to realize that I might have been selling their charms short for years.

Zeke Baylor, for instance, had an intensity in his eyes on the court that I'd never seen in the easy-going jock before. Each time his gaze swept in my direction, I felt a little thrill pass through me that had nothing to do with school spirit. It was all too easy to imagine where else Zeke might display that intensity. And that _body_. Yum.

Jason Cross, too, made up for his awkward conversation skills by being anything _but _awkward on the court. He seemed to always be in the right place for an assist, and he moved with a magnetic amount of confidence and purpose. He had a sort of gangly charm about him, like a large, boyishly attractive dog.

And that was _nothing_ compared to Chad Danforth. I had never seen anyone move so fluidly, bursting with coiled energy and grace, like a panther on the hunt. I couldn't take my eyes off him as he agilely dodged and weaved like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was like watching a dance; a flowing, powerful dance set to a sensuous rhythm that only he heard. I could feel myself flushing in a ridiculously obvious and completely absurd way, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. That boy could _move_.

Oh yes, I had definitely been selling the Army of Jocks short for far too long. Troy who?

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a voice calling my name. I looked toward the shout and saw Gabriella Montez standing in the aisle, smiling and waving me over.

Figuring that she'd gotten the lead and was there to gloat, I sighed. Better to get it over with. I stood and agilely made my way across the stands, dodging knees and poorly placed purses, until I was in front of her. I was surprised to see Kelsi standing behind her, peeking up at me from under her black bowler hat with an expression that somehow managed to mix shyness and defiance.

Gabriella Montez, who I was pretty sure I'd never exchanged a word with, gave me a friendly, open smile. "I'm glad I found you! You're pretty hard to track down, when you're wearing the same color as everyone else."

I raised an eyebrow at her, not really comfortable enough to point out that she was wearing that color too. Couldn't she just get on with it?

Gabriella made a hand motion at Kelsi, who reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a CD case. Not looking at me, Kelsi thrust it in my direction.

Hesitantly, not sure what to make of it, I took it. There was a picture of that moon set-piece on the cover. I opened the case to reveal a burnable CD inside, with more moon and star pictures drawn with sharpie on it. "What…"

"It's Twinkle Towne," Gabriella said. "I figure that no matter what part you get, it'll make it easier for you to memorize it if you have it in audio. Each scene is on a different track; they're labeled in large print on the inside of the cover."

I stared at her. "Why… why would you do this?"

Gabriella looked mildly confused. "You're dyslexic, right?"

"I… yeah. How did you…?"

She smiled. "They don't call me the 'freaky smart girl' for nothing."

I stared down at the CD, opening and closing the case. Words failed me.

"Kelsi did most of the work by recording the entire thing last night. I just gave her the idea… and made the labels."

My eyes snapped over to Kelsi, who was staring down at her shoes. "You made this for me? Even after what Shar and I did?"

Kelsi shrugged.

"_Why_?"

Eventually, _finally_, she looked up at me. "Because you know what it's like."

To put up with Sharpay. To dream big. To put everything into one's art. I could have asked her to clarify, but I found that I didn't need to.

"Thanks. Thanks… a lot." I swallowed the quaver in my voice, and met both girls' eyes. "I can't say how much this means to me."

Gabriella smiled sweetly. "I'm glad to help. We're all in this together."

"All in this together," I repeated, smiling down at the gift.

"I'd better go or my mom's going to wonder where I ran off to. I'll see you at rehearsal, Ryan!" Gabriella waved and disappeared into the crowds of milling fans. Kelsi watched me for one more second, then gave a little nod and scurried after Gabriella.

"That was sure nice of them." Sharpay appeared out of the crowd, watching the departing girls with a calculating expression.

"Yeah," I mumbled, still a little dumbstruck as I fingered the CD.

With a long-suffering sigh, Shar put a hand on my shoulder and propelled me back toward our seats. Once we'd sat down, she flicked her hair and resolutely stared down at the basketball court. "Well, that saves me the agony of helping you memorize lines. Our first read-throughs are always _torture_, Ryan. I think they'll give me premature age lines."

I smiled, knowing that was as close to grateful as Shar got. I slipped the CD into her purse. "So, did you find Ms. Darbus?"

"_Yes_."

"And…?"

"And _I _am going to be the evil but absolutely gorgeous and fashionable witch, and understudy for Minnie, just in case." She waved a hand disdainfully. "You're playing Arnold's best friend, or something."

"And we're okay with that?"

"Of course we are. I don't know why anyone would _want_ to play Minnie. She's such a little crybaby."

I blanked my face to hide my amusement. "You haven't even read the script yet."

"I can just _tell_ these things, Ryan. My part is much better. Plus, I think I get to wear glitter makeup."

I smiled. It was good to see my sister coping, in her own weird way.

We turned to the game, watching for a couple minutes.

After a while, Sharpay said, "Is it just me or is this sport really…"

"Gay? That's what I was thinking."

In sync, we tilted our heads to the side, as if looking at the game sideways would make it less so.

"You know, I think there's something to this sports thing," Shar said with a wicked look in her eyes. "'Lots of skin' is a good look for jocks. If only they weren't all so _sweaty_."

I grinned at her. "You mean that's a bad thing?"

She gave me a look. "_Ew_."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Slowly, the excitement in the gym increased. After the announcer shouted a bunch of things I didn't understand (something about the clock running and swinging outside), Troy threw the ball into the hole one last time and the crowd went crazy. Everyone swamped the court as a big golden trophy was presented to the celebrating Wildcats.

Sharpay nudged me, and we headed down toward the court to join the festivities. Dad was mingling with the crowd on the other side of the gym. I laughed out loud as I looked ahead of us and saw Chad swoop in to interrupt an oncoming kiss between Troy and Gabriella.

I was surprised—but not unpleased—when Shar led us right to Gabriella and offered her relatively sincere congratulations about winning the lead. When she said "break a leg" and Gabriella went wide-eyed, Shar even laughed good-naturedly and said, "In theatre that means good luck." I was so proud of her, and I couldn't help but think she did it because of what Gabriella had done for me.

As we moved off, Zeke jumped out of the crowd with a duffel bag. "Hey Sharpay! I'm sorry you didn't get the lead, but I think that you're _really_ good. I admire you so much."

Shar tossed me an amused expression, which I returned, but for different reasons. "And why wouldn't you? Now, buh-bye."

Zeke hurriedly dug into his duffel bag. "Uh, wait! I baked you some cookies!" He pulled out a plastic bag and presented it to her.

Seeing where he'd pulled it out of, she said "Ew" and stalked off. I took the cookies in her stead. I felt like I was reaching out of my protective shell when I offered him a simple, "Nice game."

"Thanks," he said, and not just for the compliment. After patting me on the arm, he ran off into the crowd, and I followed after my sister, my heart fluttering with an emotion I couldn't quite identify.

We lingered for a while longer while Dad caught up with his sports buddies. He even introduced us to the ones we didn't know. Sharpay did her fluttering 'talented daughter of Big Vance Evans' routine, basking in whatever praise the men gave her.

It was on the car ride home that I subtly slipped Shar the bag of cookies. She was in the middle of a long, exaggerated story about the secret madness of Taylor McKessie, and didn't think about it as she opened the bag and took a bite out of one of them. She abruptly stopped her rant and shouted, "STOP THE CAR!"

Wide-eyed, Dad stamped on the brake (we had a driver on staff, but Dad usually preferred to drive, just to prove he could. I hadn't even tried to take my driver's test yet. Dyslexics don't do well with directions.) "Is everything all right, Princess?"

Sharpay stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth, and grabbed another one. "We have to get back to the high school. NOW."

I hid a snigger as Dad bemusedly turned the car around. As soon as we reached the front of the school, Shar tore out of the car and sprinted through those few still lingering after the game.

Jason and Kelsi had just come out of the front doors, him smiling uncertainly down at her while she reddened and nervously brushed her hair out of her face. At some point, she'd lost her bowler hat, and her hair now hung prettily around her shoulders. They both glanced up as Sharpay approached, and Kelsi instinctively retreated behind Jason's back. I was interested to note that he moved protectively in front of her at the same time.

Well, well.

As it happened, Shar wasn't actually aiming for Kelsi. She grabbed Jason by the front of his shirt and yelled something in his face. He said something back, which made Shar give him a shake. Jason pointed to the school, and Sharpay took off, disappearing through the front doors. Jason and Kelsi stared after her, looking bewildered.

They weren't the only ones. "I wonder what's gotten into your sister," Dad wondered aloud, eyes on the spot where she had disappeared.

I smirked. "I think she liked Zeke's cookies."

"Zeke… Zeke Baylor? Number 32? Good jump shot and excellent tip-off? Plays football in the fall?"

"Uh, I guess."

Dad sat back and considered that. "A talented young man. He's no Troy Bolton—"

"Dad."

Dad tossed a smile back at me. "I kid, son. You know I'd never begrudge anything that makes your sister happy. We have that in common."

I smiled cautiously back. "Yeah, I guess so."

It was almost a moment. Then, Dad absently reached over and straightened my hat from its jaunty angle. So much for that.


	5. What is this Feeling?

**Chapter 4: What is this Feeling?**

Rehearsals began after school the next Monday, and it became obvious within five minutes that Troy and Gabriella had had no idea what they were signing up for.

"_Where_ is my scepter? I can't get into my role if I don't have my scepter!"

"Faster, if you please! We can not engage in the wonder of the theatre when there is a ladder in the middle of the stage!"

"Yes, Ms. Darbus!"

"Kelsi, I was listening to the CD all weekend. I can't thank you enough."

"Oh… good. Did you get it memorized?"

"Yeah. Shar and I both."

"You call this a scepter? Oh no, it won't do at all! Everyone's incompetent but _me_!"

"…did you like it?"

"It's awesome. But…"

"What?"

"Watch the backdrop, people! That is the soothing bass line to our theatrical symphony, and poking holes in it does not help!"

"Sorry, Ms. Darbus!"

"You might have to change the key on Shar's solo. When she goes that high, dogs start howling."

"Oh. Right."

"Get out of my _way_, you peon!"

It was, in short, a typical day in the East High Drama Club.

The stage was a whirl of activity while scripts were handed out, set pieces were moved around at Ms. Darbus's whim, and everyone scurried to get out of Sharpay's direct line of sight. Meanwhile, in the eye of the sparkly, theatrical storm stood Troy and Gabriella, clutching one another's hands and looking generally frozen in terror. As if they were in the midst of a nuclear holocaust and were trying to cope with that fact.

"Settle down, all my young performers!" Ms. Darbus's shout cut across the noise, and the bustle began calming down. The techies disappeared into the wings as one-by-one the cast sat in a circle at centerstage. "It is time for us to begin our journey into the wonders of the theatre… where a normal girl can become a queen, a quiet boy can become a star… where a—"

"Ms. Darbus, I want to take this home and add some personal touches," Shar interrupted impatiently, waving her prop scepter around. It was a cheap plastic thing that had ample glitter but far too many fake jewels. They'd probably bought if for two dollars at a common toy store. I could see why Shar wanted to modify it.

"Yes, very good, Sharpay. Allow your inner artist to run free with it. Now, might we begin?"

I pushed off from the piano, where I had been talking with Kelsi, and moved to join my sister at the head of the circle, next to Ms. Darbus. In unison, Shar and I sat down, sitting cross-legged and serene like a pair of Buddhas. Kelsi grabbed her music off the piano and squeezed into the circle on Ms. Darbus's other side.

Gabriella and Troy seemed relieved to have things settling down. They sat down across from Shar and I, and at some point, someone had stuffed scripts into their hands. Troy was looking down at his as if he wasn't quite sure what it was or whether it was deadly. Gabriella smiled a bit shyly at the other cast members, making an effort, as ever, to be friends with everyone.

"Today, we will be doing a simple read-through, so that we might familiarize ourselves with the play," Ms. Darbus said once everyone was sitting in the circle. "By coming together as a cast to experience the play for the first time, we form bonds that will last until the curtain closes on our last performance. Now come. Everyone turn to page one, and let us begin this journey together."

The auditorium was filled with the sound of shuffling papers as everyone but Shar and I flipped past the cover page of their scripts.

"The musical opens with Arnold, played by Mr. Bolton, and Peter, played by Mr. Evans, walking through town, talking. This scene introduces the setting and themes, and leads into the first number, which will involve most of the cast. Arnold, yours is the first line."

Troy nodded and cleared his throat. Then, woodenly, he read, "Can you believe it? We live in a town with wizards, flying carpets, and talking camels, and here I am, part of a family that won't deal with any of it."

A gap of silence followed Troy's words, during which the entire Drama Club stared at him. I knew I had the next line, but somehow I felt like I would be committing a mortal sin against the theatre if I dignified _that_ reading as an actual performance.

"Wow," someone said.

"Well, Mr. Bolton…" Ms. Darbus said, adjusting her glasses. "That was certainly…"

"Terrible," Sharpay said.

"Awful," I said.

"_Painful_," Sharpay said.

Troy pursed his lips, glaring up at us defensively.

Kelsi piped up. "Just give him a chance. He's new at this, and it's his first reading."

"Thanks Kelsi," Troy said, still glaring at us.

Shar scoffed. "I've heard _Ryan_ read off the script better than that. And Ryan can barely _read_."

"Thanks Shar," I said, a bit more wryly than Troy had.

It was a long rehearsal.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Somehow, we managed to get through the script by the time rehearsal ended, though just barely. Lesser cast members began filtering out of the theatre, but a handful of us lingered on the stage. Troy had his head bent over the piano, whispering to Kelsi. I could tell by the excited gleam in her eye that she was talking about her play—I hoped she was explaining the _proper_ meaning of the term "inflection," since he seemed to think it meant "speaking loudly."

Sharpay, of course, lingered nearby in the wings, obviously eavesdropping. Meanwhile, Gabriella was talking with four Drama Club regulars on the other side of the stage, everyone smiling and chatting as if they'd been friends since kindergarten—which was more than I'd _ever_ seen any of them do, even with one another. Drama Club kids were always too focused on the competition and subtle politics of showbiz to connect like that. That girl had some kind of magic to her.

I was lingering around center-stage, waiting for Troy and Kelsi to finish talking so Shar would finish eavesdropping, when I saw the Army of Jocks come into the theatre.

Well, not the whole army. There were only the three jocks, and no trail of cheerleaders—thank God—unless one counted Taylor McKessie. I suppose it would have been fairer to just call them "Troy's friends." Oh well; I liked my term better.

Jason came in first, which surprised me. He poked his head around the corner, then spotted Kelsi and stepped around it. Zeke followed three steps behind, one arm burdened with his duffel bag and the other with something in a Tupperware container. He had that air of anxiousness that I found so intriguing.

Taylor came in more slowly, preoccupied with pulling a reluctant Chad into the theatre by one arm. Chad clutched his basketball with his other arm and looked around with the same paranoid distaste that he had had during that fateful detention two weeks ago, as if afraid that the theater might infect him with a love for sparkles and dance. All three jocks were wearing workout clothes.

They moved down the aisle unobtrusively, until Jason waved and said, "Hi Troy! How was your play practice thing?"

I heard Shar whisper, "It's called a _rehearsal, _moron," from the wing, but that was only because I was listening for it. I smiled.

Troy's head jerked up, and he gave his friends a smile and a wave. "Hey, guys. Shouldn't you be tearing up the court?"

"Dude, we already did," said Chad. "Like, three times."

"We missed you in two-on-two, man," said Zeke.

"Instead, it was two on one," Chad said, breaking into that lollygag grin of his, apparently forgetting his discomfort. "And I _still_ kicked their butts."

Troy laughed. "Guess you don't need me as playmaker then, huh?"

"Nah, I got it _down_," Chad rejoined. His smile was lighting up the whole theater. I was transfixed. "You go do your tutus and tights thing. The court'll have a new alpha dog next season."

"Emphasis on _dog_," said Sharpay, not even bothering to whisper.

Meanwhile, Kelsi looked up at Troy in alarm. "You don't _want _tutus, do you? Because I hadn't planned any, but I could still talk to costuming and have them arrange…"

Troy silenced her with a smile. "Don't worry about it." He pushed off from the piano and headed toward his friends, still on the stage.

The jocks had stopped in front of the front row, near where Ms. Darbus was packing up. Now, they broke away from one another. Jason went up on stage, suddenly turning shy as he went near the piano. Kelsi blushed and fiddled with her cap. Taylor had gone to stand next to Gabriella, looking a bit wary of the Drama Club members the Einsteinette was talking to. Meanwhile, Zeke hopped up and made a beeline straight for me, still looking anxious.

As Chad and Troy continued their goofing around, Zeke gave me a pleading expression, and I pointed toward the wings where Shar had disappeared. Zeke gave me a happy-puppy smile and patted my shoulder in thanks. A wave of tingles ran over my skin, and I found myself mirroring his expression as I watched him head for Shar. I blanked my face as soon as I realized it.

Then, I heard my name and turned my attention back to the conversation that Troy and Chad were having. Troy was saying, "…Ryan's a guy, and he doesn't seem to mind." Judging by his tone, the two had stopped bantering and were alarmingly close to an argument.

Chad rolled his eyes, dismissing me and whatever point Troy was trying to make. "Dude, I didn't mean it like that. I was _kidding_."

"Well, it wasn't very funny. Why are you like this? Is this about the 'Michael Crawford in your refrigerator' thing?"

…the what?

"No! Look, you can do your dancing and singing, and that's fine, because you're awesome at it. But I can't do all this frou-frou stuff. I'm just into the real stuff, you know?"

"_Excuse_ me?" For a moment, I thought it had been Shar who had said that, because it sounded like a thing she would say. Then, as Troy and Chad turned to me, I realized that, no, that hadn't been Shar's voice filling up the theater, echoing a tinny tenor back onto the stage.

Chad looked at me with dismissive distaste, then turned back to Troy, fidgeting with his basketball. "Look, how about we go out and have a ga–"

"Oh no," I said, stalking up to them. Troy was still staring at me, but I didn't care about Troy. In fact, I felt many eyes on me, but I didn't care about those either. I was on stage, and I had no qualms about being stared at when I was on stage. The only stare I cared about was the brown-eyed one that I wasn't currently receiving. "No no, you're not getting away with that comment that easily."

Chad turned back to me, giving me a _what the hell is your problem now? _expression_._. Troy and I were up on the stage; Chad still on the floor. If I had wanted to, I could have easily kicked him in the nose. The only thing that stopped me was the tragic thought of messing up that exquisitely boned face.

"You do _not _get to come to _my _theatre," I told him coldly, "during _my _Drama Club rehearsal, and start saying that it's not 'real,' when you have no concept of all the unforgiving hours of humiliation and torture those who are serious about theatre put into it. Not 'real?' It's more real than any stupid sport could ever be."

His glare intensified. "You want to talk about humiliation and torture? How about passing a ball at top speed for thirty minutes, all while Coach blows a whistle in your ear when he thinks you're not doing it fast enough?"

"Spending days practicing a soliloquy for an audition, only to be rejected after the first two lines. Or worse, rejected because you're too _short_, or too _pale_, or not _cute _enough for the part."

"Two words for you: Try. Outs."

"Um, guys?" Gabriella squeaked. "Maybe you should agree to disagree, here."

I was tempted to look at Gabi, but Chad had locked his eyes on mine, and I sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to look away first.

"Sure, I'll do that. Once he gets the hell out of my theatre."

Chad's eyes narrowed. "Since when is it _yours_? Did your daddy buy it or something, just like everything else, _Evans_?"

For some reason, hearing him use my name like an insult drove a bramble right up my spine. It was the first time he'd ever addressed me, and I did not like it. "He doesn't buy anything. I'm talented on my own, which is more than I can say for you; you have to ride on the shoulders of your _boyfriend_ to get on the team."

I hadn't meant to say it… boyfriend, I mean. Because I knew firsthand the insecurity attached to that word. The terror and the isolation that comes from knowing you're something society says you're not supposed to be. It was what had caused me to clam up after Newport, to shrink into myself. I instantly recoiled, worried that I'd gone too far.

But Chad wasn't me. He didn't blank his face, as I would have done. He didn't hide what he was feeling at all, because that was not how Chad was.

Instead, a look of purest rage and loathing crossed his face, and, faster than I would ever have expected, he dropped his basketball, leapt up on stage, and tackled me.

I landed on my back with an "oomph," him on top of me, punching me anywhere he could. I had a strangely self-destructive will to just go limp and let it happen. I sort of deserved it, didn't I?

But no, that would be giving up. I was an Evans, and an Evans does not give up. An Evans smashes through whatever obstacles are put in his path and doesn't let anyone hold him down. I'd heard that speech from my father more times than I could count, but it had never resonated more than it did now.

So, I struggled, twisting around under him to avoid his blows. He was strong—it _hurt_. I somehow got both my hands around one of his wrists to stop it, but then he simply started hitting me with his free fist. So I did the only thing I could think of—I twisted my neck and started _biting_.

It probably lasted all of ten seconds before Troy and Sharpay managed to pry us apart, but I was already beginning to worry about my future dancing career.

Large hands gripped my biceps, pulling me back, while Chad was pulled in the opposite direction by Troy and Jason. He glared at me, but stopped struggling almost immediately. Sharpay positioned herself between the two of us, hands on her hips, no doubt giving Chad her Glare of Doom. I glanced behind me and saw that Zeke was the one supporting me. Everyone else stood nearby, Gabi fretting, and Taylor looking at Chad with disappointment.

"Mr. Danforth; Mr. Evans," said a voice that we all knew. Ms. Darbus stood above us, adjusting her glasses. "I trust you are familiar with the school's policy on violence?"

"That uncouth attacked Ryan, Ms. Darbus," said Sharpay.

"You little—" Chad hissed.

"I do not care who attacked whom," our teacher said loudly over him. "I believe the both of you will benefit from a day's suspension to cool yourselves off. A chat with Principal Matsui is in order." She motioned for us to follow her, then turned and headed out of the theater.

Chad tore out of his friends' grip and, sending one last glare at both Shar and me, stomped off after her.

For some reason, I was incapable of doing the same. I stared after them, various aches from the fight making themselves known. After a moment, I heard Zeke ask, "Are you okay?" in my ear.

Zeke was so nice, so sweet. The gentle giant, the sensitive strongman. His hands still held my biceps, with the care of a man aware of his own strength. His palms were warm through the fine material of my shirt. The warmth said "I can support you; there's no need to worry." It made my entire body feel warm, a warmth that wasn't completely about temperature, all radiating from the spot where he held me.

Why couldn't all jocks be like Zeke Baylor? Why did people like Chad Danforth have to exist? It would have made things in Newport a lot easier.

I was suddenly aware of someone touching my eyelid, and I jerked back, startled to find Taylor McKessie's face inches from mine. "Well, whatever it was, he's responding now."

With ease, Zeke lifted me to my feet and stepped back. I mourned the loss of contact, which should have alarmed me.

"_Ryan_." Sharpay's fingers snapped in my face. "Get to the principal's office, before you get us all in trouble."

I felt lost, set adrift. And so, I anchored myself where I always had when I felt that way: on my sister. "Yeah. Okay." Head down, emotions roiling around inside me, I left the theater, feeling stares on my back and not caring one whit.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Time went by, and the news that Troy's best friend and Sharpay's brother had gotten in a fight came and went like the latest pop hit. No one really cared, and soon everyone forgot.

Except Chad and I, of course.

Rehearsals continued, and Troy did, fortunately, get better. Not _much_ better, mind, but better. We found that Troy's acting was somewhat passable when he could relate to the character, so Kelsi made some minor adjustments to Arnold. Gabi was no born actress herself, and seemed to be doing this for the "fun" of it—which Sharpay found highly offensive.

Each day, Troy's friends would come by near the end of rehearsal. Some days, they would have Taylor in tow, some days not. Jason would talk to Kelsi, Zeke would give treats to Sharpay, and Chad and I would resolutely refuse to acknowledge the other's presence. Whenever they came in, I retreated to some corner of the stage and found something to busy myself with until Shar was ready to go. It stung, feeling uncomfortable in the theater.

Chad wasn't the only thing making me feel that way, either. There was also Zeke.

It didn't take me all that long to realize that I was developing a crush on the boy. I'd had my share of crushes before, but this one was particularly bad, because it was on the guy who had a crush on my sister. I watched him as he gave her treats and compliments with absolute sincerity and devotion. And I watched her as she accepted the praise and gifts with the air of one who was merely receiving what was rightfully owed. I knew that she secretly basked in Zeke's attention, taking on a certain self-confident glow whenever he was in the room, but I also knew that she would never admit to either Zeke or herself how much it meant to her.

Meanwhile, I felt myself go all fluttery whenever he gave me one of his open smiles or friendly pats. If he handed me the day's treat to give to Sharpay, I had to force a stage smile to hide my jealousy. I was on his radar, but there was no way he would ever see me like that.

_Straight_, I kept reminding myself. _Straight straight straight straight. _It didn't really help.

But I never let anyone see it. Even my sister. _Especially_ my sister. She'd never let me live it down if she knew I was falling for a jock—never mind that she had been fixated on Troy for several _years_.

Well, conventional logic was below an Evans, anyway.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"I can't do this." I rubbed at my temples and kept my eyes closed, refusing to look up at the atrocity that the cast seemed to think was dancing. I'd endured much of the same for two hours straight. Ms. Darbus seemed adamant that _everyone_ get that particular number _just right,_ since opening night was only two weeks away. I was at my breaking point.

"Don't be a baby, Ryan," Sharpay said. I could _hear _her eye roll.

"Can't we just, like, move the cast to the background, simplify the steps, and overlay a lighting effect, or something? Because I really don't think this ensemble Ceroc thing is working out."

"Ensemble what?" I heard Troy whisper. Gabi shushed him.

"I think Ryan's right, Ms. Darbus," Kelsi said, and I opened my eyes to give her a grateful look. She flashed me a tentative smile over the piano, then looked at the Drama Club advisor. "Maybe it would come together better if we used something different?"

Ms. Darbus leaned back in her seat. "I thank you for the input Ryan, as usual. Let us sleep on it tonight and see where the muses lead our steps tomorrow." She waved her hand imperiously, and the cast trudged half-heartedly off the stage.

Kelsi motioned me over to the piano. As I leaned against it, she greeted me with a shy smile. We'd had a couple conversations here and there, even—gasp—outside the Drama Department. I got the impression that this was as new for her as it was for me. Lack of social experience was one of many things we had in common, in addition to a passion for creation, a healthy fear of Sharpay, and impeccable taste in headwear.

"Thanks for backing me up," I said, eyeing Jason as he lingered out of earshot behind her.

"Well, I was kind of telling the truth. It… that was pretty bad."

"Exactly, thank you. Someone needs to tell my sister that not all ensemble dances need her at center stage."

She ducked her head to hide a giggle. "I'm not doing that."

"Me neither. I wonder if I can pay a freshman to do it. They're disposable."

She giggled again, and I smiled at the warm feeling that gave me.

Ew, no. Not like that. Girls have cooties.

I simply mean that it felt good to make people smile. To know that you made someone's life a little bit better. It was one of many things I'd missed out on by hiding behind Sharpay for all those years.

"I thought your suggestion was pretty good," Kelsi said, gathering her sheet music. "You know, moving everything but the important stuff to the back. I mean, it takes away from the chaotic feel that's important to the scene…"

"But makes it a little easier for the audience to read." Kelsi nodded. I confessed, "That's actually how I pictured the scene when I listened to the CD."

"Oh… did you do that for all the numbers?"

I grinned sheepishly. "A little."

She smiled. "Envision anything good?"

I winked. "You know it." Jason shuffled his feet around behind her. "I'd better let you go. Your boy toy wants to talk to you, I think."

She ducked her head again, this time to hide a blush, and waved as I pushed away from the piano.

I headed across the stage, glancing around for any sign of Sharpay or Zeke, then stopped dead. Chad was slumped in the front row of the auditorium, watching Troy and Gabriella make eyes at one another with what could best be described as masochistic fascination. This was not an unusual sight at rehearsals, as Troy showed no awareness whatsoever of Chad's glaring abandonment issues.

What stopped me was the ball he was playing with. He'd switched out the basketball, as he did every year around this time, for something from his spring sport. Baseball.

I knew that Chad played baseball; everyone knew. He was always talking about it in the spring, albeit rarely with Troy, since Troy didn't play on the team. Last year, he'd taken to carrying a baseball bat everywhere, and called it "the Negotiator," joking about taking it out whenever a teacher assigned homework or a test.

Today, he had a glove and ball. I watched him idly toss the ball from one hand to the other, his eyes still locked on the Golden Couple. My eyes, on the other hand, followed the white object as it arced up and down, up and down against the backdrop of auditorium seating.

There was a baseball in my theatre. I felt violated.

Before I could make anything of it, though, Zeke wandered into the theatre from the back entrance, his expression reminiscent of a guy whose beloved dog had just gotten run over. All activity on stage stopped as people noticed his dazed plodding through the auditorium.

As he drew even with the front row, he raised his head and looked at all of us blankly. I covered my mouth to hide a gasp as I noticed some swelling around one of his eyes. "I think I just lost my spot on the lacrosse team."

"What?" Chad jumped out of his seat.

"Why?' Troy said, furrowing his brows.

"I think… I think it's because I bake."


	6. Corner of the Sky

**Chapter 5: Corner of the Sky**

The rumors spread through East High: Zeke had gotten into a fight with the lacrosse coach. No, the coach had caught Zeke having a clandestine affair with half of last year's team. No, his affair had been with Jason, and there had been food play involved.

In other words, no one really knew what had happened.

What I did know, though, was that Zeke was glum at school from then on. His fellow jocks lingered close to him, but no amount of manly quips and cooing cheerleaders cheered him up.

I watched from afar, well aware that approaching him would be an unwelcome intrusion, and cursing more than ever my lack of confidence outside the theatre. Seeing him that way dragged me down, and it reflected poorly on my performance.

"Sharpay, you missed your cue again, and Ryan, what in the Bard's name has happened to your balance?" Ms. Darbus rubbed a hand over her eyes as we refused to look at her or one another. "The show is just over a week away; whatever is going on, I trust you to sort it out before then." She waved a hand, dismissing us, and motioned for Gabi to come on stage to practice her solo from the second act.

"Nothing's wrong," Shar hissed as Kelsi played the opening strains. We walked across the stage and settled in the wings, near a group of techies finishing the set pieces. "Why would she think something's wrong with _me_? Though, I admit that _you_ are reeking up the place."

"If you say so, Shar."

She gave me a discerning look, then crossed her arms with a huff. After a moment, she said, "Zeke never bakes me cookies anymore."

"I know."

"Do you think he thinks something's wrong with me too?"

I sighed. "I really don't know, sis. He's probably just depressed."

"Depressed? Why? Because of that stupid stick sport thing? Big deal."

"I seem to recall you getting a little frantic when you thought Gabriella was taking your role."

She gave an indignant gasp, then stamped a heel into my foot. "You swore never to speak of that again!"

"Ow! I think you punctured my loafers."

"On your Armani collection, Ryan. You swore on your Armani. That's _sacred_."

I raised my hands placatingly before she could lash out again. "You're right, I did. Sorry. I was just making the point."

"That what? You have no respect for topics that should stay in the past?"

"No… that Zeke cares about his sports as much as we care about theatre. It probably hurts that he can't play one."

"Oh." She put her hands on her hips and disdainfully watched Gabriella walk across the stage as she sang through her nose. "And you think that's why he stopped making me things?"

"Probably."

She tilted her head and squinted at Gabi. "Obviously, we have to get it back, then."

"Get what back?"

She gave me an exasperated look, and I could tell that she had an idea. "Lacrosse, Ry. We're going to get Zeke back on his team."

Brightened with Purpose, she spun and stalked across the stage, just as Gabi finished her solo. Over the last strains of the song, Shar loudly demanded to run through her part again. I smiled as I followed, once again grateful that I had a sister like Sharpay.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The first phase of the plan was to find out what, exactly, had happened. Sharpay set her little web of devotees into motion gathering information, and one got back to her during final period the next day, Friday. Shar sat in the back of our trigonometry class with her cell phone just under her desk, her jaw dropping by degrees as she read her texts.

As soon as the bell rang, we were off to the theatre.

"Nikki says that Erik says that the cheerleaders heard Zeke tell Danforth that Coach Bolton wants Zeke to work out during free period."

My mind utterly failed to follow that sentence. "…what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Pay _attention_, Ryan." She waved a hand vaguely. "It sounds like Coach Bolton wants Zeke to keep himself in shape for lacrosse. Apparently, Zeke's been spending his free periods in the Home Ec labs, which, by the way, Nikki thinks is 'super cool.' I don't get it, but whatever."

"Wait… why would the basketball coach care about lacrosse…?"

I yelped as she swatted me with her clutch. "_Duh_, Ryan. He's the lacrosse coach in the spring. He can't be basketball coach when it's not basketball season, now can he?"

"I guess not."

She gave me an 'exactly' look, and we stopped at our lockers. Shar peered at herself in her locker vanity, and pulled make-up out of her clutch for a pre-rehearsal touch-up. I stuffed my books in my locker, shut it, and waited for her to finish.

"Apparently," she said as she applied lipstick, "it started when he went into the locker room after school, and one of his teammates from last spring complained that they never saw him during free period workouts, though I have no idea why someone would _want_ to spend time getting all icky and sweaty in the middle of the day. Can you imagine having to take all those showers? Or worse, _not _taking them, and smelling like a—"

"Shar," I prodded.

She gave me a glare in her mirror. "Don't 'Shar' me, Ry. It's me telling the story."

I played with my newsboy cap to stop myself from sighing or rolling my eyes, or something equally suicidal.

"Anyway, Zeke told them he was up in the Home Ec labs, baking, during free period. And because the team are a bunch of stupid boys just raging with testosterone, it somehow turned into a fight. That's how he got that black eye, I think."

"I see."

"I'll believe that when I see it." She capped the lipstick and started inspecting her mascara. "So Mr. Bolton hears the fighting, and comes out. But then _he_ starts getting on Zeke's case about not showing up for free period workouts. He says some stuff about teamwork and keeping in peak condition between seasons—I wasn't really paying attention to Nikki's texts here—and somehow Zeke gets riled up enough to shout back. And then Mr. Bolton shouts something like 'If you can't give one hundred ten percent, don't bother showing up at tryouts.'" She had lowered her voice in an unflattering but accurate imitation of Coach Bolton. "That's when Zeke grabbed his things and left, and that's how they stand now." She shut her locker and turned to me.

"So… what do we do?"

"What else? We meddle." She smiled a schemy smile and strode confidently down the hall, in a direction that was not toward the Drama Department.

x-x-x-x-x-x

I was a little taken aback—but not at all surprised—when Sharpay strode purposefully into the boys' locker room, perfectly poised as if she belonged there. I did my best to act like she did, too. A chorus of catcalls from boys in various states of undress followed us as we passed through and turned into the gym teachers' office.

Mr. Bolton glanced up, pulling his feet off his desk. "…what on earth? Miss Evans, you want to tell me what you're doing in here?"

Shar posed against the doorframe, flashing Mr. Bolton a disarming smile. "I'm glad I caught you, Mr. Bolton. I was worried I'd miss you, and have to wait until Monday."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see boys peering at her from behind corners and lockers, but when I turned to look straight at them, they disappeared. It was unnerving.

"What can't wait until Monday?" asked the coach.

She stepped into the office, somehow still keeping her charismatic smile, despite the room's smell. "Well, I was just wondering when tryouts for lacrosse are scheduled?"

The coach made a little laughing noise. "While I applaud your trying to channel your aggression into something productive," (I stifled a snigger) "I'm afraid I can't help you. Our school doesn't have a girls' lacrosse team… though I'm sure Mrs. Noles wouldn't mind starting one, if you suggested it."

"Oh! No, I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for Ryan."

For the first time, Coach Bolton noticed me, still standing in the door, and his face went completely white in what looked to be horror. "Ryan Evans… wants to play… lacrosse?"

I flicked a glance at Shar, and she gave me a pointed look. I put on a stage smile. "Absolutely. Everyone else seems to be trying new things, so I figure I should too."

"You do know that it gets a little rough sometimes, right?"

"Yes sir. I've taken twelve years of dance; I think I can handle it."

Oddly he seemed to find that even less assuring. He stared at me for a moment. "Did Darbus put you two up to this?"

We both put on appropriately surprised expressions. "Of course not, Mr. Bolton," Sharpay said.

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then narrowed his eyes and shook a finger. "Something's up, here. I'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Why would we… oops!" Sharpay gestured, tipping the coach's mug all over his desk. He leapt up and righted it, but not before some sort of noxious energy drink thing had puddled on the desk and started dripping down to the floor.

"Oops, I didn't mean to—" Shar exclaimed in her fakest 'silly me' voice.

"Don't worry about it. Just… stay here. I'll be right back." He ran past me and out of the room, heading for the bathroom for something to sop up the mess.

As soon as he was out of sight, Shar leapt into action, flipping through the papers on his desk and opening his drawers. When she noticed me watching, she gave me an impatient look. "Ryan, come on!"

Obediently, I crossed to a filing cabinet. "What are we looking for?"

"Something useful, duh."

"Glad you're so specific, Shar."

"Just shut up and dig."

I paged through a couple files, most of which were newspaper clippings all showing pictures of Troy. Uh… huh.

Shar suddenly shouted, "Aha!" I closed the cabinet and turned in time to see her fold something neatly and slip it into her clutch. I joined her at the desk.

"He keeps an entire cabinet full of articles about his son," I said.

"Um, _creepy_."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

Mr. Bolton swept back into the office, bearing an entire roll of paper towels. We stood by and watched as he started sopping up the sticky liquid that I really didn't want to identify.

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Bolton," Sharpay chirped and turned to leave.

The coach's head came up. "Wait… didn't you want to know when tryouts were?"

"Three weeks from now, right Ry?"

"Um, sure."

Mr. Bolton gave us an incredulous stare.

"Toodles!" Shar gave him a finger wave and swept out, and I followed after. I think she was too pleased with herself to notice the stares.

Once we were safely home in the auditorium, listening to Troy do vocal exercises, Shar opened her clutch and pulled out the folded piece of paper.

"So what did we get?" I asked.

She unfolded it and showed it to me. As far as I could tell, it was a typed list of names. "These are the people who were on the lacrosse team last spring. Those who didn't graduate last year will probably be on it again."

"So…"

"So, Ryan, we are going to give those jocks a little appreciation for the arts, culinary or otherwise."

x-x-x-x-x-x

Over the following Monday and Tuesday, contenders for the lacrosse team began one-by-one suffering from a universal case of exceedingly bad luck. One found his locker piled with textbooks in such a way that they promptly avalanched out on him as soon as he opened it. Another misplaced his clothing while using the showers and had to walk to the lost-and-found wearing nothing but a towel. Another got multiple bruises when a herd of freshmen trampled over him during passing period.

It was all very innocent and unconnected, but, apparently, fearing some sort of karmic retribution, the team got together and decided to take back anything they'd done wrong in the past month. This included apologizing and making amends with Zeke for the baking thing. He walked into Tuesday rehearsal with a smile and a fresh batch of brownies baked that free period, and told everyone how the team had mysteriously decided to convince Coach Bolton to ease up on the free period policy. That was enough for Shar.

But for some reason, it wasn't enough for me. Something bothered me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. That was bad, because opening night was in three days.

I watched Zeke over the next couple days. He was usually easy-going and ready with a joke or a kind word. But now he was quieter, more reserved. I couldn't help but worry that something was wrong, and was surprised that none of his friends seemed to pick up on it.

Well, except one.

On Friday during free period, Shar and I commandeered one of the music rooms to bicker about last minute things, just like we always did. We heard a knock, and Jason Cross poked his head in, his eyes flickering back and forth between us in silence for a moment.

"Kelsi's in the auditorium," I told him.

"I'm not… looking for Kelsi."

Sharpay didn't even deign to look at him. "Ryan, can you tell this bro-bot to leave before one of us catches whatever that is he's got."

Jason frowned at Sharpay, but didn't take the hint. Instead, he stepped inside and shut the door. "Look, I know you two had something to do with Zeke getting back on the team… right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said airily, staring at a wall.

His eyes turned to me. He reminded me of a kicked dog. "I saw you in the locker room… on Friday."

"_Duh_. It's not like that was a secret. Ry thought he wanted to join a sport, but I talked him out of it."

"Oh." He frowned, thinking. "That was it?"

"Yep. Now, buh-bye."

He stared at me, and I kept my face blank.

"Okay. Well, I was hoping you could help with something… but I guess I'll talk to Troy and the guys instead." Dejected, he turned and opened the door.

"…wait."

"_Ryan_."

I very carefully did not look at my sister. "It's Zeke, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He turned back, brightening a little.

"He's still a little depressed, isn't he?"

"You noticed too? I thought I was the only one." Looking relieved, Jason sat down on a piano bench (with no piano in sight, might I add).

"What? Why?" Sharpay snapped, finally turning to acknowledge him. "He's got his sports and his baking. What more does he want?"

"I think… um..." Jason fidgeted with his hands.

"And why do we care?" Sharpay pressed on.

"I thought you would, since you did with the last thing." He frowned to himself. "Except that you didn't."

"We did," I confessed.

"Ryan," Shar hissed as he glanced up hopefully.

"Look, he's my best friend. I'm worried about him." This, he said to Sharpay, as if pleas to sympathy actually worked on her.

"Think of the cookies, Shar."

She glared at me, then huffed and turned away in a way that I recognized as concession.

"We'll help, if we can." I told him, holding down a triumphant grin. "Do you know what's wrong?"

"I think so." He thought for a moment, working through it in that slow way of his. I recognized something of myself in that; he had a slow, careful way of thinking about things. I wondered if maybe there wasn't more going on in there than showed, just like there was more inside my head than most people gave me credit for.

"Well?" my sister prodded impatiently. I motioned for quiet, and she turned her Glare of Doom upon me, the full force of which could reduce greater men to tears. I was used to it, though, and simply didn't look at her.

After a while, Jason spoke. "Zeke is…torn, I think. He wants to do both, but I don't think he thinks he can. He's worried that he won't be able to do everything that he wants." It was so familiar, a shiver went down my spine.

Shar didn't see the parallel. "But he'll figure out a way, just like Troy, and everyone will get together and dance and sing in the end. What's the big deal?"

Jason shook his head. "But that's just it, because Troy _hasn't_ done both. Don't get me wrong… Troy's a cool guy. But when he spends more time in the theatre, he spends less on the court. And when he hangs out more with Gabi… he hangs out less with us. Zeke doesn't want to be like that. I think he's worried he might be."

"That's so like him," I mumbled, smiling. When Jason glanced at me curiously, I shook my head.

"Yeah… so, I was wondering if you guys might come up with something to handle this."

"You must be completely stupid," Sharpay said, rolling her eyes, and Jason slumped. "How could we do that? What are we going to do, sit down and have a heart-to-heart?"

Well, that wasn't a bad idea.

That afternoon, everyone was frantic. It was opening night, and therefore the stage was transformed into a hurricane of glitter and gauze. Some scurried to find pieces of their costumes that had mysteriously gone missing, and two techies with poles tried to get the camel prop down from on top of the spotlight (no one knew how it had gotten up there in the first place).

Shar spent the entire afternoon primping in her dressing room, occasionally poking her head out to yell at some unfortunate techie. Kelsi hunkered over her piano, hands running over the keys in a shaking-yet-competent manner. Troy spent his time coaching Gabriella, who seemed to be having some sort of panic attack. Ms. Darbus could be seen as a flutter of scarves constantly on the move. Meanwhile, my time was split between attending to my sister and herding the younger cast members into some semblance of calm and order.

When the jocks and Taylor entered after their respective after-school activities, they looked rightfully taken aback by it all.

"Hey, guys," Troy said breathlessly, holding Gabi close.

"Wow," Taylor said, looking around at the bustle. "We're not in the way, are we?"

"Probably a little," Troy said sheepishly.

Chad shook himself out of the horrified stare he'd been giving Troy's colorful costume and stage make-up. "We just dropped by to wish you good luck with your show thing."

Every Drama Club regular gave a gasp, and Chad looked around as if _we _were the weird ones, when he was the one with _that_ hair.

"What?"

"Man, you can't say that in the theatre," Troy said quietly, but his voice carried. "It's bad luck."

"Saying 'good luck' is bad luck? Since when?"

"Since always, dude."

Chad stared at Troy for a long moment. "You really are… one of them."

"Chad…"

"Wait, no, I'm sorry." He held up is hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm just saying I'll be watching." He quirked a sideways grin and pointed at Troy. "So you better not screw up."

"Thanks, Chad," Troy said, smiling.

Meanwhile, Taylor climbed up and started rubbing Gabi's back and whispering soothingly to her. Jason cast a glance around before heading over to Kelsi and giving her a kiss on the temple.

Zeke headed toward me, a cake box cradled in his arms. He gave me a tight smile. "I baked something special. Where is—"

"GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU INSECT!"

We both winced and turned to glance in the direction of her dressing room. A costumer came scurrying out, something lacy and colorful bundled in her arms.

"Probably best to wait a couple minutes," I suggested.

"Yeah," Zeke whispered back.

"Actually…" I turned back to him, and he gave me a curious look. I suddenly felt shy, having his full attention, but I fought the emotion with the self-denial of an experienced actor. "I want to talk to you about something."

"Sure." He looked confused, but was too nice to deny me. _God_, why was Shar so lucky?

Focus, Ryan.

I led him off the stage and out into the house, where things were less chaotic. We sat down along one wall on the side, close enough to one another that I was tempted to take his hand. He set his cake on his opposite side.

"Ok, shoot."

I focused on _not_ trying to scoot closer to him, the memory of his strong hands coming back to me.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah." I did a quick breathing exercise and mastered myself. "I was just wondering… I mean, I heard the lacrosse thing sorted itself out."

He smiled, and my heart fluttered. "Yeah. Coach Bolton eased up, so it's all good."

"But…?"

His smile faded, and he shrugged.

"It doesn't feel like enough," I finished for him.

He looked at me, guarded in a way I'd rarely seen him.

"It feels like… you're being pulled in two." I sighed. "There's one thing, the thing that everyone expects you to do. The thing that's comfortable… the thing that's… acceptable. And you love it, of course you do, or you wouldn't be doing it. But then there's the other thing… the thing that stirs your passions, and fills your heart in a way nothing else does, so much that it's utterly overflowing, and you know that _that_ is happiness. But pursuing it means alienation. No one would understand if you gave up everything for it. But you have to give up something, because there's only so much of you to go around. So is it the one your head knows is smart, or that your heart knows is right? You can't do them both… but it hurts to give either up."

"We're not… talking about me, here… are we?"

I reached up to pull my fedora over my face (I'd demanded that my costume have one). "I just wanted to give you my take on it."

"Which one did you choose?"

"My heart. It was never really a contest, in the end."

"You ever regret it?"

I breathed out and peered up at the house ceiling. "Not regret it, exactly. Sometimes, I look back and wonder 'what if'? What if I'd chosen the comfortable one? Would my father be able to talk to me? Would I have friends? And would I be happy? I don't think so, for the last one."

He reached over and put a hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and simply felt the warmth and strength coming through the point of contact.

"Thanks, man. You're right. When you put it like that, there's really no contest."

I opened my eyes, and saw him beaming at me. My muscles turned to goo.

He removed his hand, but kept on smiling. "You know, there's actually this Junior Iron Chef thing going on this spring. I think it'd be fun to try it, you know?"

I tried to speak, but my tongue had turned to mush with the rest of me. _Pull yourself together. _I took a deep breath. _Straight straight straight._

He stood up, and held out a hand to help me up. I took it, conscious not to look too eager or hold on too long. Still, my heart was fluttering.

He reached down and picked up the box, then handed it over to me. "You'd better give this to her. I don't think I should go in there right now."

"Not if you don't want to lose a limb," I said with something disturbingly close to a giggle. _Straight, dammit!_

He just grinned brightly—much brighter than he had in two weeks—and turned to rejoin his friends.

And just like that, I became aware of my surroundings again. The jocks were standing in a cluster off one side of the stage, Gabi still ensconced in Troy's arms. Kelsi had disappeared, and rest of the Drama Club were a nervous mess.

The jocks greeted Zeke as he rejoined them, and I heard Chad say, "Dude, what were you doing, talking to _him_?"

"Lay off, Chad," Zeke said. "Ryan's cool."

_He said my name_.

Jason grinned at me behind Zeke's back, sensing the lack of tension in his friend, and I felt bold enough to give him a wink as I passed. I did a little dance as I moved toward Sharpay's dressing room, even humming a few bars.

Shar looked up at me as I entered, obviously in the midst of a pre-performance crisis of some kind.

"_Ryan_, where have you been? I couldn't find my glitter eye shadow, and now I have but it's not going on right, and I think I've gained weight so I feel all fat and bloated, and I have bags under my eyes and I think one of the sound people took my cell phone wherehaveyoubeen!"

While she spoke, I set the cake down on the dressing stand, and waited for her to release it all. Then, I hummed soothingly to her, calmly taking her eye shadow and turning her chair toward me so I could apply it. She slowly calmed under my careful ministrations.

"Is that a Zeke thing?" She asked, pouting.

"A cake."

"You have to help me eat it, Ry. I'm all chubby and icky right now."

I bit back a smile. "You are not chubby, Shar."

"I _am_. It's all those sweets I've been eating!"

"Have you actually gained any weight?"

"Two whole pounds!"

I failed to hold back the smile any longer, and she pinched me for it.

What I'd told Zeke was true: it really never had been a choice. Even if I hadn't loved dance so much, I wouldn't have given my sister up for anything.

When the curtain rose, we knocked them dead.


End file.
